A butterfly that fluttered by...

Much-needed Remodelling

2011-01-20T16:36:00.000+05:30

There is rising criticism that MBA is turning into the last decade's B.Tech because of the humongous number of B-Schools cropping up all over the country and more than 1 lakh MBA grads passing out every year -many times more than the number of doctors, lawyers and Charted Accountants. The education and training provided at most of these schools except for the top 50, is not really value-adding, according to academicians and recruiters. Most people also see a Management degree as a way to earn lakhs in salary -what they don't realize is that the much-cited 15+ LPA CTC figures are bagged by work-ex holders while Freshers still start at the bottom.
This, probably, has triggered the current changes that the IIMs are making in the way they give admissions to students. In a stunning move on Jan 17th, IIM K has sent out calls to all candidates with more than 75 percentile OA and 55 p'cile sectional scores. But they have clarified that this is only Stage 1 of their new 3-stage process where weightage will be given to the candidates' past academic records and profile. They were quick to add that admissions would still be on the basis of merit. The rationale behind this decision is to lower the importance given to CAT scores and take a more balanced view of the candidate's profile. [See: http://www.pagalguy.com/2011/01/iim-kozhikodes-new-three-stage-admission-process-everyone-scoring-above-75-percentile-gets-a-call/ ]
This is a welcome change -for it gives an opportunity to those with an exceptional profile but unexceptional CAT score and many who may have missed the IIM bus due to a skewed sectional score in CAT (including Yours' Truly, who did this in CAT 2008!) to at least be part of the process.
Similarly, there are talks that IIM B is also discussing radical changes in its admission process, to take in only candidates with at least 22 months work-ex, a mandatory 10% of international students and an overall emphasis on leadership potential, social & ethical consciousness etc. Good to know that they are finally looking at the person and not just the numbers!
In fact, they are intending to create a wider change -not just in admissions, but also the course content. For instance, making summer internships optional, cutting out PPTs and using resumes and student interest instead. [see:http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/bangalore/IIM-B-likely-to-make-work-experience-must-for-entry/articleshow/7316438.cms]
Since the number of IIMs burgeoning all over the country is increasing, critics feel that the brand equity of the IIM tag will get diluted because of lack of quality faculty and infrastructure. This is the time when most of the existing IIMs are also under pressure to do something to preserve their brand value -may be these changes will facilitate that. At any rate, the scene seems better for the Management education sector in India, as a whole.

Through tinted glasses

2010-09-12T12:58:00.002+05:30

She stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the sparkling blue sea below and the brilliant skies above –which was a reflection of which? There were thin lines of white froth outlining the wave crests –she could almost taste the salty tang of the air. White seagulls soared above the waters… now dipping…again rising.. such graceful swishing movements… “I am a writer,” she said to no one in particular. Yet, did no one hear her?

“I suppose the wind did… and the sand granules that the wind carries...the gulls are too far away to hear!” she thought.

“I am a writer” she said again, now more to herself than anyone else.

That gave her the permission to exaggerate. For she was not standing at the edge of the cliff exactly –there was a six feet high wired fence between her and freedom. And the sea was just blue –not sparkling, but nevertheless a beautiful shade. The gulls were not pure white of course–some were an ashen grey (not even gray) and others were dirt-brown. And there really was no one to hear her for miles around.

Yet, she said again, “I am a writer.”

To her, the world was beautiful.

The forbidden fruit

2010-09-12T12:57:00.000+05:30

The little girl could see the orchard from her upstairs nursery window. She would run to the window the first thing every morning to see the trees green, blossom and then bear fruit with each passing day. This morning, she saw the tree that stood a little away from the rest –there were shining golden red fruits on it. It was a miracle –the last time she looked, there were just white blooms all over the green canopy. And today, boughs and boughs of delectable fruit!

She spent the morning telling her mother, her nanny and the butler that she wanted those fruits. “They are forbidden fruits, darling… little girls must not eat them,” her mother admonished her. “Why not?” she asked, to which no one replied. Later, she heard her father tell the butler that the men would come by later in the afternoon and to keep the baskets ready. She knew what that meant –those precious, desirable fruits were going to be packed off to her fathers’ friends. Their little girls and boys would lick the juice of their fingers, while she… she suppressed a sob.

“Those are forbidden, my dear… if you are good, you can have a banana,” said her old governess. Bananas! She nearly scoffed out aloud –how could bananas make up for those beautiful beautiful golden red fruits?

All day, she watched the men put up long step-ladders beneath the trees and pluck the fruit into wicker baskets that the gardener carried to the shade. It was a sunny afternoon and there were sunbeams on the green garden floor. She watched fascinated, the play of golden-red on green –how beautiful! When the men left for lunch, they didn’t put away the step ladder. She found herself running down the stairs, down the paved path out of the door, into the orchard and in a trice, she was climbing the step ladder with great difficulty.

She forgot what happened soon after –after all, she was only a little girl –the world tilted alarmingly and there was mud on her clothes and her face. There were shouts and one of the workers carried her upstairs. Her mother and the governess were sobbing –her father looked worried. “It’s those damned fruits, John –that’s what she wanted… why didn’t you just give her one?” her mother was saying accusingly. Her father said nothing. She was in bed again and a doctor came, spoke to everyone and went. Then there was quiet.

How funny grown-ups are! She thought sleepily, looking at the basket of golden-red fruits kept by her bedside.

MAY

2010-09-12T00:38:00.000+05:30

I cannot tell you how it was;

But this I know: it came to pass

Upon a bright and breezy day

When May was young; ah, pleasant May!

As yet the poppies were not born

Between the blades of tender corn;

The last eggs had not hatched as yet,

Nor any bird forgone its mate.

I cannot tell you what it was;

But this I know: it did but pass.

It passed away with sunny May,

With all sweet things it passed away,

And left me old, and cold, and grey.

: Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)

Christina Rossetti is one poet whose works I love without exception –I can’t say the same for Keats or Shelley or Browning. Her poetry is temperamental but still, beautifully poignant. The simplest, most unadorned phrases make so much meaning. Like Sylvia Plath said about her tulips, Rossetti’s words are like little hooks that catch onto mind and don’t let go.

I read “May” for the first time today and the variety of emotions she has managed to express through these two stanzas amazes me. There is love and loss… joy and sorrow.. fleeting nostalgia and bitter beauty… It has always amazed me that a human being can feel so much –such a myriad of emotions –to be able to put pen to paper and re-create them for others to share is truly art beyond measure.

In love with love!

2010-06-08T16:47:00.000+05:30

I was reading my old blogs today -torn between envy and amusement. Can you be jealous about yourself? Can you laugh at what you once considered top priorities? I realize that you can do both.
In July 2008, I have talked about being a hopeless romantic -of finding the love that is meant for me; the love that will endure. That will grow old by my side. I had no idea then that I would find it just a month later! In three months from the time we met, SR and I were both completely bowled over by each other. So much that at the age of 20, I -who used to wax eloquent about a free life and live-in relationships -told my mother I had found the man I wanted to marry. Love is truly crazy!
Today, two years later, I can blog openly about him. Because we got engaged last week. And in all this time, our madness hasn't decreased one bit. If anything, we are even more hooked than before. Even as I write this, I am amazed at how mushy I have become -how much softer and sweeter at heart! The girl I was a few years ago, would never admit to such mush -that too in public.
It is true what they say -about you not knowing what you are missing until you've been there, done that. I am here now -and insanely happy.
Just wanted to scream that from the roof tops.
:)

Phir Mile Sur

2010-03-16T00:00:00.000+05:30

“Mile sur mera tumhara”, the 1988 album created by the iconic Suresh Mullick of O&M, has often been hailed as the unofficial national anthem of India. It has gained a cult status among Indians, rousing patriotic feelings and receiving applause wherever aired. The trend these days to ‘remix’ anything and everything has not spared even this legendary album. On January 26, 2010 Zoom TV telecast the remake, creatively named “Phir mile sur”.

The new version definitely has one thing in common with the original –it’s been creating waves since its release. Only, the former was a wave of appreciation. The celebrated original portrays in around 6 minutes, the ‘Unity in Diversity” characteristic of India in the 14 different languages then part of the Constitution and iconic figures from various cultural, literary and sports fields.

The remake, however, appears to pay homage not to our motherland, but to the so-called ‘stars’ she has produced. More than double the duration of the original, it is merely an exhibition of media-savvy stars from different fields. The focus has completely shifted from unity in diversity to the individual performers. For instance, Aamir Khan is shown amidst a group of children, in a scene suspiciously similar to one from Taare Zameen Par. SRK does his embrace-the-world arm-spread from Kal Ho Naa Ho. Shilpa Shetty, who supports Rajasthan Royals in IPL, is shown in the backdrop of (surprise, surprise!) a Rajasthani village.

While the original was a collage of snapshots of India, with the reappearing motif of togetherness, the remake is nothing but a poorly-sewn patchwork quilt. Amitabh Bacchan was invited first, given some screen time and asked to do whatever he liked. Then ARR, followed by Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy and the rest. Since Big B was invited, his beta and bahu also got tickets. To avoid the fragile filmy egos clashing, the three Khans were also asked. Priyanka Chopra, Deepika Padukone, Shilpa Shetty, Ranbir, Shahid Kapoor and other such ‘youth icons’ were included definitely not for their glamour quotient, but because they represent the Generation Next of India. And of course, a genius director like Karan Johar, famous for his poignant and sensitive portrayal of social issues simply had to be there. The director has also realized that Shaan and Sonu Nigam are more representative of the playback world than veterans like say, Hariharan or SPB.

While the original was shot in different regions of India, depicting the local culture –a mahout on an elephant in the backwaters of Kerala; elderly Anglo-Indians in flowery clothes sipping tea in their front porches in Goa; Calcutta’s Metro etc –most of the locations in the remake are unidentifiable. Moreover, there seems to be no culture being depicted anywhere –neither through clothes nor background nor the actors! Mistaking the set for a shooting location, Deepika Padukone has even wandered in wearing a wet knee-length frock. What is surprising is that despite such a glaring contrast, both albums have the same director, Kailash Surendranath.

Most of us cannot understand half the languages used in Mile sur –yet, we know the whole song by heart. We can sing along with it, whenever it is aired. That was the strength and appeal the lyrics and the music held. But for the life of me, I cannot recall even one line from ‘Phir mile sur’ –despite having a host of musicians, the new tune is eminently forgettable.

Thus, having failed in lyrics, music and portrayal –except perhaps in displaying how shallow our cultural and intellectual sensitivities have become in a span of 20 years –‘Phir Mile sur’ is a tragedy of sorts.

Things I love about Life at IMT

2009-12-09T22:54:00.001+05:30

# Complete freedom of thought, speech and action.Its laissez-faire here -totally !!!
# Music playing day in and day out from all four hostels –feel as though I am living inside a song !
# Hot coffee and kurkure at 1 am, in the warmth of the canteen, when its freezing outside.
# Long walks under the dark night sky, all bundled up in woollens.
# Sitting on our special “muse bench” watching the sunset.
# Watching movies by the dozen on my laptop.
# Breakfast of paneer parathas and cold coffee on Sundays.
# Reading in the LRC, where there’s always a smell of books and air-freshener… I love it!
# Cooking hot maggi in my electric kettle and experimenting with chips and sauce.
# Random class hours… some days at 9.30, some days at 3.00 and sometimes going on till 8.00pm !!!

Trying to get back...

2009-12-09T22:37:00.000+05:30

I haven't written much these last few months; not that there wasn't anything to write about, but because there was a lot !!! Entirely too much, I would say. And I was finding it tough to take it all in -the whole new experience; a totally new life- let alone write about it.

But I guess I'm settled now and the words are tumbling over inside, trying to spill over onto paper....

I've travelled halfway across the country and am right now at the centre of India, in this quiet, beautiful little city of Nagpur. It is a wonderfully pleasant place to live in from July to February. The rest is Summer. Hot, Dusty Summer; But thankfully, that's when we do our internships -away from Nagpur.
:)
I'm not even in the city per se, but tucked away in a corner, 35 kilometres away. Here, and on the way here, I've seen things that I've never seen before...

The whole 35 kilometre journey takes around an hour by bus--which are not at all like our KSRTC buses; The windows have glass panes because Nagpur gets very dusty in the summer; and there are two two-seaters inside with such a wide aisle that most boarders (who are usually farmers) sit on the aisle with their children and baggage so that theres' no way you can stand, let alone move about. The leather on the seats is very scratchy and makes you sweat.

But the sights outside make up for all this -there are nothing but green fields and cattle on either side of the road; in the distance, you can see the purplish heads of mountains. The fields have a wire fence around them, over which flowering creepers grow. They are covered by tiny violet annd white blossoms; Bougainvillae and a bright yellow flowered shrub grow in abundance by the wayside.

The bus ride is, in a nutshell, a snapshot of a simple, rustic life.

The "B-School" ( didn't you know -we MBA's don't say 'college' anymore? :) ) nestles between Kalmeswar and Dorli. Of the two, I would say that Kalmeswar is a town while Dorli is a village; The differentiation is based on the facts that Kalmeswar has an SBI, two ATM's, lots of kirana stores, a lodge, a market, a school and a medical centre. Most of the inhabitants work in Govt. and private firms.

Dorli is a different story. Most of the villagers are either farmers or cattle-rearers. There is an absurdly startling resemblance between them and R K Laxman's Common Man. Many young men from Dorli work at IMT as "Dustblower Boys"; This is a coveted and prestigious profession for them -working at IMT. It was a surprise to learn that these sons-of-the-soil prefer cleaning someone else's rooms and toilets to working in their own fields. According to one of them -who calls me Didi - he gets a uniform; a salary; a 'tag' and hence, high ratings in the wedding market --all thanks to his Dustblower job. I empathize with him, remembering how 5-6 years ago,we were all clamoring to enter the IT and BPO fields because of the remuneration and social standing it offered.
More about life here soon….

Tag after a long time...

2009-05-26T14:11:00.000+05:30

A tag I took up from Poo… felt like doing it… J
1. Last beverage – Tea
2. Last phone call- Sreeram
3. Last text message – Gouri
4. Last song you listened to – Kankal Irandal
5. Last time you cried – a fortnight ago, I guess
HAVE YOU EVER
6.Dated someone twice? – No
7. Been cheated on? – Nope.
8. Cried yourself to sleep? – Yes, who hasn't?
9. Lost someone special? – Yes… more than one.
10. Been depressed? – Not in the clinical sense.
11. seen ghosts – Not yet…not looking forward to it either…
12.LIST THREE FAVORITE COLORS.
Red, Blue, Orange
THIS YEAR HAVE YOU
15.Made new friends – Yes
16. Fallen out of love – No
17. Laughed until you cried – Yup
18. Met someone who changed you – No, not so much.
19. Found out who your true friends were – Yes.
20. Found out someone was talking about you – Yes
21. Kissed anyone on your friend's list - Yes
22. How many people on your friends list do you know in real life ? –absolutely no idea…around a 100 I guess…
23. How many kids do you want to have – Preferably none. If I cant help it, two. :D
24. Do you have any pets – Yes… aTeddy-bear, a Marappatti and a baby elephant.
25. Do you want to change your name – Nope…never.. I love it
26. What did you do for your last birthday – Wrote an exam. L
27. What time did you wake up today – 7.45 am
28. What were you doing at midnight last night – On the phone.
29. Name something you CANNOT wait for – Finish with B.Tech
30. Last time you saw your father – 10 years ago, I guess
31. What is one thing you wish you could change about your life – nothing…
32. What are you listening to right now – The rain..patering down on our water-tank …
33. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom – yes— his middle name was Tom.
34. What's getting on your nerves right now? An errant mosquito…
36. Whats your real name –Gowri Rajalakshmi
37. Relationship Status – Committed.
38. Zodiac sign - Capricorn
39. Male or female – Female
40. Natural Hair color? - Black
41. Hair color now – black
42. Pet Peeve – most of them…
43. Need Glasses- Yes.
44. Long or short – height- tall, hair- Short
45. Height - 5'4
46. Do you have a crush on someone – Yes I do.
47. What do you like about yourself? – I am smart and funny..
48. Piercings – Just the ears…someday, a nose-ring…
49. Tattoos – No, thank you.
50. Righty or lefty – politically—neutral. Otherwise—righty…
FIRSTS.
51. First surgery – None so far.
52. First piercing – ears
53. First tattoo - never
54. First best friend – Shaarika
55. First sport you joined – dodge ball
56. First pet – a stray pup who I christened Lucky.
57. First vacation – Kottayam, with family.
59. First crush- Anurag60. First alcoholic drink – not yet…but soon…
RIGHT NOW.
61. Eating – mango
62. Wearing – green-and-brown flowery skirt and green top
63. I'm about to –have lunch, then go pick up a book on Computer Communication
64. Speaking to – my bro
65. Waiting to – Get my exams over…YOUR FUTURE.
66. Want kids? – no
67. Want to get married? – yes
68. Careers in mind? – Writing/teaching/management/counseling
WHICH IS BETTER WITH THE OPPOSITE SEX?
69. Lips or eyes – eyes
70. Hugs or kisses – A bit of both.
71. Shorter or taller- Taller
72. Older or Younger – Older
73. Romantic or spontaneous – Spontaneously romantic… :D
74. Nice stomach or nice arms – Can't I have both?
75. Tattoos or piercings- Let’s just keep it clean.
76. Sensitive or loud- sensitive…
77. Hook-up or relationship – Get hooked-up in a relationship
78. Trouble maker or hesitant- trouble maker of course!
HAVE YOU EVER.
79. Kissed a stranger – yea—someone’s baby @ a mall…
80. Drank hard liquor - No
81. Lost glasses/contacts – Nope.. but have broken my bro’s dark brown sunglasses at Hyderabad… got skinned alive…
82. Sex on first date – Nope
83. Broken someones heart – Yea.. just a little…
84. Had your own heart broken – Yes.
85. Been arrested?- Almost, but not quite…
86. Turned someone down - Yes.
87. Cried when someone died - Yes.
88. got someone into trouble intentionally – nope.DO YOU BELIEVE IN.
89. Yourself – Most of the time.
90. Miracles – Yes
91. Love at first sight – Yes
92. Heaven – on Earth, yes. Up there—I dunno..
93. Santa Claus – Yep.. intending to go to Netherlands to see his cottage in person..
94. Kissing on the first date? - Nope
95. Angels – Yes…
ANSWER TRUTHFULLY.
96. Is there one person you want to be with right now? – Yes.
97. Had more than one boyfriend/ girlfriend at one time? – Kinda
98. Do you believe it’s possible to remain faithful forever? – Yes.
99. What's the one thing you cannot live without? – Metaphysically, Freedom of thought.
Mundanely, my family.
100. Posting this as 100 truths? – Same thing, another title…

Towards Greener Pastures...

2009-05-25T19:18:00.000+05:30

I want to splash Life with poster colours... the vivid orange of sunsets... crimson and purple... inky blue and golden yellow... forest green with golden tints and long silvery expanses...
I have always loved adventures...mysteries... thrills and wonders... the feeling of not knowing what the next moment holds...
Even while reading an agatha Christie novel on a rainy evening, I never try to guess the identity of the killer... I love to savor every word... take the mystery as it comes...
And roller-coaster rides...giant-wheels... the whole feeling of terror and apprehension that drives you nuts... that makes you scream your lungs out...
Even the very sound of words such as "Stable" and "Secure" triggers alarm bells in my head...I immediately connect them to Saki's phrase... "...the dull gray sameness of life..." and I wonder-- could there be a heavier curse?
But recently, I've realized what it truly means. There is certainly a warm glow to Life, when you know what you are going to do next...where you are going to be... who you will have at your side... and who you won't... when you can make plans and dream on about the future...
Make a to-do list and firmly tick away at the contents...
Now that's like a Strategic Break in the roller-coaster ride.
:)

INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE

2009-04-11T18:51:00.000+05:30

This CAT Season, I got two calls-- one from a college way up North, and another from a college
way down South.
I attended the interview of B-School B at Chennai two weeks ago.
It is customary to post your interview experiences online, to act as a beacon to posterity.
Perhaps, I should copy-paste this on T.I.M.E website or PagalGuy....hmmm.

I am dressed up in a gray colored kurta, which I fancy, looks sombre enough for a funeral, let alone an interview. I am carrying an impressive briefcase, also made of gray translucent plastic, containing not-so-impressive credentials.

Me: May I come in sir?
(Inside the room are two guys-- on the left is Mr.Baldy in a pale-yellow shirt. On the right is Mr.Dark, in a white-and-gray striped shirt. He looks up and is all smiles... )
Mr.D (heartily): Ahhh... Gowri N Kishore (with special emphasis on Kishore)...
The instant he says "Good Morning", I say "Good Afternoon". He goes all courteous at once, saying,
Mr.D : My mistake, I'm sure... not afternoon yet...please take a seat.
He continues to grin at me for a full minute while I silently wonder if I have dirt on my nose. I switch my gaze to Mr.B, who stares at me coldly, sniffs, and looks down at his paunch.
Mr.D holds up my CAT Score card. Mr.B brightens up visibly...
Mr.D(still smiling) : 11% in Quantitative ability... tell me Gowri, what should we think about your mental ability based on this mark? Are you really this stupid?

Me: No sir, I am not..What I am, is slow... I could manage to do very few questions...
Mr.D : Supposing you were sitting on my seat ( I would be more comfortable, I think silently)
and a candidate turns up with this score card, how would you evaluate him?
Me: Blah..blah..blah (Basically Bullshitting)
Mr. D says "Hmmmmmmmm" and looks at Mr.B
Mr.B stretches in his chair, scratches his head, stares at me again as if wondering what I am doing there... leafs through my profile...
Mr.B(triumphantly, as though it's a recent discovery) :Electronics and communication engineer, huh?
Me(optimistically) : Yes, in another 3 months, if I am lucky.
They don't get the joke.
Mr.B leans forward.
Mr.B:Let's go for a rapid-fire... answer me quickly... Who is the Union Minister of State for Industries under the Ministry of Labour?
Me(gaping at him): Er...
Mr.B:Quickly!!! Tell me...
Me: Kamal Nath? (??????????)
Mr.B (frowns): No; Who is the Union Minister of State of the Department of Agribased Industries?
Me(sweating): Lalu Prasad Yadav? (!!!!!!!!!!!)
Mr.D guffaws.
Mr.B : Who is the Chief Minister of Guwhati?
Me(desperately): Guwhati? I thought it was a city!!!
Mr.B stares at me coldly. I lose my nerves.
Me(blabbering): Oh no.. my mistake I'm sure... Ram Vilas Paswan?
Mr.D has tears of mirth rolling down his cheeks. Mr.B is getting angrier and angrier.
Mr.B: Union Minister for Commerce?
Me(mind goes blank): Erm...I knew it --hold on..aaaargh! ...erm...
Mr.B is shooting daggers at me. Mr.D is doubled over with laughter, slapping his thighs and the desk alternately.
Mr.B (hardly amused--to say the least) :So Gowri..what are the different modes of Communication?
Me (Mind conveniently goes blank) : Er...modes of communication...erm..let's see... well, there's speaking..writing...
Mr.B (Eyebrows disappearing into his hair) :No no..I didn't ask you to philosophize...
Me( another hopeful try): Oh I see--you meant technically? hehe..my mistake, I'm sure...
(look at Mr.D for support, but he is engrossed in the pages of my profile).. okay, here goes-- Mobile, satellite, computer ...(basically reeling off the names of our 8th semester papers)
Mr.B (genuinely annoyed): Let me give you a clue-- Simplex. Go on--say the others...
Me(desperate and trying not to show it, recollect bits heard in the first year): Right-- Simplex, Duplex, Half-duplex...
Mr.B (leans back, smirking):Explain each of these...
I know I am lost. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I lean forward conspirationally and say in a sotto voice,
Me:Sir-- I'll be perfectly honest with you...
Mr.D looks up eagerly and leans forward too. The gossip-monger...
Me: We had just two Communication papers in all these 7 semestersof engineering education. And this semester, we have 6 communication papers.. the Kerala university syllabus is so designed that not even the educational experts who formulated it in the first place are able to fathom today, how an average electronics and communications engineering student knows nothing about the nuances and practical aspects of communication even though well into his final semester...

Mr.B(hardly impresses by this eloquent discourse): So you don't know the answer.
Me(gulp!!!) :No, I don't.
They both look at each other, and smirk.
Mr.B (closing in for the kill): Tell me a practical application of EPROM.
Me(buying time): Well sir, an EPROM is an electrically Programmable Read Only Memory... A CD is a ROM. It's basically a non-volatile form of storage...but in a CD, you program data into it once and you cannot alter that data...so, mass production of CD's containing one-time information is very cheap... An EPROM is where you can electrically alter the data written in the ROM... so it makes it reusable...

Mr.D(grinning again): Gowri...Gowri..this is not your university exam answer sheet...
Me:Hehe! No, sir...it isn't...
Mr.B(Losing patience): So --just tell me the practical application of an EPROM...
Me: Well, sir..like I said, since it helps memory reuse(I notice the dangerous glint in his eye and speed up hastily)..in all such applications where you need to reuse the amount of storage space you have, you use an eprom...
Mr B(through gritted teeth): So, wherever you need an EPROM, you will use an EPROM...is that what you are telling me?
Me(laughing nervously): Erm...yes sir. (well, if you don't need an EPROM, you wouldn't use one, would you?)
Mr.B sits back, staring at me in disbelief.
Mr.D's Cheshire cat grin is getting on my already over-wrought nerves.
Me(Desperately): Well sir..EPROM--is used in Microcontrollers...and Microprocessor memories...
Mr.B shakes his head repeatedly as though he had water in his ears.
I give up.
Mr.B picks up my profile and leafs through it again.
Mr.D (suddenly): Sree Chitra Thirunal college of engineering... tell me who was Sree Chitra Thirunal?
Me(relieved): He was a King of Travancore, who did a great many things for social and educational upliftment...He--
Mr.B(interrupting me): What was Swathi Thirunal's relationship with him?
Me(staunchly): Swathi Thirunal was the grand uncle of Chithira Thirunal.
Mr.B(raised eyebrows again): Grand Uncle?
Me: Yes... He was the brother of the father of Chithira Thirunal's mother...
Mr.B looks doubtful, but shuts up.
Mr.D: So what was Swathi Thirunal famous for?
Me: Music.
Mr.B(attempting comedy for the first time): Pop Music? (Laughs uproarious;y)
Me(Coldly; when will villains learn to stick to their roles?) :No Sir. Classical Carnatic music. He has composed scores of Keerthanas.
There is a collective "Hmmmmmm".
Mr.D asks finally, :So, any questions you have?
Me: None thank you.
Mr.B( taking his revenge): Just let me go ...is that your attitude, Miss.Gowri? huh? Is that it?
Me(Wide-eyed): Of course not, sir... if you want me to stay, I will...
Mr.B realizes suddenly I am perfectly serious.
Mr.B(hastily): No-no...You may leave... (Wipes his brow)
I say Thank you and leave.

Achingly Beautiful...

2009-03-13T19:30:00.000+05:30

"tose naina la eage to mile roshni...
tose mann me laage to mile zindagi...
wahi koi insaan, mohabbat se khaali..
har ek roop pyaasi..har ek dil sawaari...
kaise jeeya jaayen ishq bina?
mohabbat jahaan wahaan zindagi hai
mohabbat na ho to kahaan zindagi hai....?"

The words are so beautiful...it hurts....

My friends and other animals

2009-03-10T23:24:00.001+05:30

This is my story. So let me tell it my way. Without worrying about the readers.
About feelings that might be hurt in the process of reading this.

Whom can you call a friend?
Is it someone who is always there when you need them?
Is it someone who helps you when you are in trouble and guides you through turbulent times? Is he just a listening ear when you want to vent your feelings?
Is it someone who finishes your class notes when you are absent? Or saves a seat for you in the bus?
Or gives you half of their Dairy Milk? Is it a friend who accompanies you to the bathroom after class?
Is it someone who you have fun with? Someone with whom, there is never a boring moment…someone who brings you happiness and laughter…?

Is a friend all this rolled into one?

I look back at my life—at the relationships I’ve had over the years.
Let me list them down, to get things in perspective.
#1: I had A. A was always there when I needed him. The number of hours he has listened to my tales of woe would easily cross a thousand. He was with me all through my years of “growing up”. From the time I was 16 up till the recent past. He was first in my heart always, and whenever I counted my blessings, I used to count him twice.
He was the kind of person to notice the glimmer of a tear in my eye or a break in my voice. He wasn’t the kind to lavish me with affection. Or hang around with me sharing laughter. He helped me through all troubles—both imaginary and real one—by scoffing at them. Everything seemed silly and trivial once I told him about them. He taught me that I had all the solutions in my head. I only had to think objectively and find them. He told me that I was creating troubles where there were none. He helped me survive.
I needed his friendship. I needed his help. I was emotionally dependent on him. Totally.
And I wished and wished for years that I too could be of some use to him. Just as he was to me. I was extremely possessive of him, thinking I knew him better than anyone else…
We were together for so long; But there wasn’t much happiness.
It was mostly listening and talking. Oh yes—there was understanding. And caring.
But hardly any fun. Hardly any laughter.

#2: I also had B. I was more her friend than she mine, in total contrast to my relationship with A. B was this really cool lady. I never knew how we became friends.
We were as different as chalk and cheese. As far as I can remember, we didn’t have many emotional conversations. But we had fun gossiping. And we always conversed in English—so my language improved greatly. The best thing about her was that she never, ever questioned my actions. The relationship was so easy.
I had all the freedom in the world to think and act as I pleased. She neither criticized nor complained. B was so totally cool…as graceful as a swan. So composed and confident. Mentally, I used to call her the Ice Princess.

#3:Let’s come to C. C was interesting. With smart comebacks and a wonderfully refreshing way of thought. We didn’t talk much—in fact, we chatted. C had a way of making me feel different and interesting. And that was a form of flattery no woman can resist. C understood and empathized with most of my Emotional problems. We got along famously because we just shared stuff. There was plenty of sympathy and empathy. He could make me laugh—at PJ’s; at Adults-only jokes and at Life in general… He was also the one who taught me that swearing isn’t really a crime. And that you don’t have to be demure and doe-eyed to be liked by the opposite sex.

#4: Then there was D. Now, D was the paradigm of the average adult male. So loyal and sincere. Frank, straightforward. Always laughing, always fun. And perpetually at a loss as to the nuances in the working of the female mind. If you told him indignantly that an MCP was heard to ask, “What’s the difference between a woman and her body?” he would look at you and ask innocently, “I don’t know…what is it?”
You could approach him for solutions to any tangible problem. Like ideas for a project. Or a BSNL simcard. But if you told him you were feeling gray, he would ask, “You have gray hair?”

#5: And E. E and I lead independent lives. We spend time together, because we suit each other. We don’t get on each other’s nerves. We give each other their own space, and yet—not a wide berth. I can talk to E about most stuff, if the need arises, and the feeling is reciprocated. But after my stints with A, B, C and D, I’ve learnt that some things are best handled alone. In fact, most things. Like A taught me, I have all the answers within my head.

But of course, I can’t go into cafes and theatres alone. That is too boring. So I’ve got a few people—F, G, H, I , J etc, who come with me. I don’t have un with them. They are the kind of people who have fun among themselves. I just surround myself with them so that I can make an occasional joke, or steal an occasional smile from one of them. I’m happy with that.
It is true, what someone said—once you have zero expectations, you’ll be the most contented person t=in the world. I just gave up all of mine, and voila! I’m suddenly out of the rain clouds…

Looking back, I can objectively analyze my problem. I had my eggs in different baskets.
Of so different sizes and shapes that I could never even hope to stack them together, let alone on the same arm. But there’s no point crying over spilt milk—I’m not doing that. All I’m doing is warning you that you will never get something for nothing. There’s no free lunch.

Friendships aren’t unconditional. Love is.

CERTIFIED INSANE

2009-03-06T19:46:00.000+05:30

I've been giving this page a wiiiiide berth for a while... today, I turn up to find that everyone else--who I love to read-- have been giving me company too...
:(
Sharan-- why can't you blog everyday, man? I like reading stuff you write...it's got a Thaat kinda touch to it--i can't explain what... it always makes me feel thoughtful and pensive afterwards...why don't you put something down? And Aravind? What is wrong with you?
Well-- i cant go on with the blame game forever... i have to put something down myself.
So let's see--
i've got a 99.47 percentile in CAT and it is solely due to my 100 p'cile in English. i have not just 60 p'cile in quant...
And i had 3 calls. One is over. i cant remember how it went.
The second one-- my Dream call-- MICA-- i've screwed that up. I wont have to go to ahmedabad in the near future.
And yeah- the third-- that is up this March end. dunno hw That is going to turn out...
A few months ago-- till october 2008, to be precise-- i was cocksure that "this time next year" i'd be in ahmedabad or bagalore or bombay...in some air conditioned lecture hall of a "premier" b-school... and i put Infosys on the back burner...hardly remembering the offer, and if at all--only with disdain-- and i think now--with a choking feeling of gratitude to the Infy-wallahs and the nice lady who interviewed me-- "Thank God, i've got an offer With a joining date...!"
i keep wondering-- will i have to join infy and start programming?
what am i really good at? We--that is, Gopika and I, are doing are project at VSSC. after spending a whole day there, going nuts in front of the system, i sat back in the bus on the way back trying to rest my eyes-- and there, beside me is Gopika--checking the code we'd written so far with a frown of concentration!!!
Now That is commitment.
Which i dont have. Not by a wide margin.
I wondered then if everyone was as committed about something?
And what am i committed to? What would i pursue with so much persistence?
Not looking up even when someone calls? Keep at gladly and enthusiastically for the rest of my life?
And just one answer popped up.
Read.
I would gladly do that forever...
And i smile a small smile. Which fades at once.
When was the last time i read something real serious? really worth reading?
I'm so pathetic these days that i downloaded an ebook of Meg Cabot's.
Knowing and thinking all the while that's it's a cheap chic-flick.
Thinking at every page that it was nothing but crap.
And i finished one book and downloaded another!!!
---------------------------------------------
I dont touch newspapers. i dont watch the news.
i dont read general articles in magazines.
i dont know the difference between CDMA and GSM. or what WiFi is.
i cant define Bluetooth technology. i didnt know there was such a thing as mp5.
and i didnt know there WASN'T such a thing as a Pentium 5.
and i am an electronics and communication engineer.
-----------------------------------------------
I was reading a few blogs this evening, and their archives go back to 2006, 2007...
i can't even remember what i was doing in 2006.
I have whiled away four years of life.
and am about to throw away another...
-------------------------------------------
i am not calling any of my friends.
I dont feel the need to.
which strikes the point home that i am a selfish self-centred bitch.
i used to talk to them only for my personal satisfaction.
to get them to help me.
and now that i dont need any, i have stopped doing so.
and that though i realise that i probably should, i probably won't.
-------------------------------------------------------
Scrolling up and reading whatever i've typed so far, it sounds like Life sucks right now.
And funnily enough, it doesn't!!!
I am Happy!!!
i am so happy and contented, i think it must be illegal...
i can cope with most of it, and i'm not worried about the future...
i know im eating too much and getting fatter, but i dont care.
and i am fine and happy--which is why im not calling anyone for help.
----------------------------------------------
i'm ceritifiably insane.
:)

EERIE ENCOUNTERS

2009-01-23T20:17:00.000+05:30

“It’ll rain any moment….”I pointed out. Balu ignored me, as he usually does when stumped for an answer. Nagging is wasted on him. The more I nag, the deafer he gets. So, I sat down on my suitcase on the platform and looked at him expectantly.
“What are you gaping at me for?” Balu growled at me, “its not my fault that the dratted train was three hours late!!!”
My stomach told me it was well past dinnertime and I raised the issue feebly, “I am hungry…what can we get here?”
“Would vegetable pulao and Gobi Manchurian be sufficient?” Balu asked sarcastically, added a brusque “ Wait here”, and stalked off down the platform. He found a rickshaw driver who demanded a hundred rupees to take us to our destination. So, Balu haggled with him. Obviously, the man was a better haggler, because we ended up giving him a hundred and fifty rupees. At the end of a rather jolty ride, he dropped us in front of Uncle Param’s estate bungalow.
“Come on, Uncle will be expecting us…” Balu said gleefully and strutted up the path airily, leaving me to heave up both the suitcases. He bore down upon the doorbell for a full minute, as if it had done him some great personal harm, but there was no answering call.
“ Uncle must have gone to pick us up from the station…I told you so. ” Balu told me accusingly.
I wanted to ask, “When?” but thought the better of it. Silently, I resumed my position atop the suitcase, watching Balu mutter under his breath.
Suddenly, the door opened and a young lady appeared, smiling. “I’m so sorry…I was having a bath…Do come in. Doctor Parameswar is out on a call…he told me you were coming.”
We followed her inside wonderingly, and Balu asked, “ Er…I hope I’m not being rude…but who the devil are you, and what on earth are you doing here?” So much for the apology, I thought wryly. But the girl seemed unperturbed and said, “ Oh, sorry…I’m Sushma. My father is the doctor’s driver. I keep house for him…” She ushered us to the bedroom, and left.
“ Pretty girl, isn’t she?” Balu winked at me. “ Very.” I said coldly. Humming something that sounded horribly like, “ O, ek ladki ko dekha tho…” he strolled into the bathroom. I began to unpack the suitcases stoically. Suddenly, the rocking chair in the corner of the room began to rock back and forth…faster and faster, heaving under the weight of an invisible rider!!! I watched it shakily, and backed away rapidly…bumping into a disgruntled looking Balu who had emerged from the bath.
“ B-Balu…” I croaked, unsure as to what to say. He avoided my gaze, and muttered something about the pipes needing repair. Careful questioning revealed that the taps in the bathroom had opened, poured and closed on their own!!! Too petrified for words, I stared at Balu. He pulled the rags of courage about him and said bravely, “ Don’t be silly…the house is a bit old. The water supply system needs repair.” With that, he steered me out of the room firmly, and down to the dining table.
Sushma had laid out a sumptuous meal, but somehow, my hunger had been replaced by butterflies in my stomach. For all his bravado, Balu seemed to have difficulty eating. Twice, he poured sambar into his glass and tried to drink it, and I stopped him just in time. Was it my imagination, or was Sushma disturbed too? She seemed a little jerky, unlike her earlier cool self. Finally, when the strain got unbearable, I burst out, “ Is this place haunted?”
Balu spat out a mouthful of water, and Sushma looked uneasy. As we continued to look at her expectantly, she admitted, “ Well…people say so.” I thumped Balu on the back, as he spat out another mouthful, and tactfully took the glass away from him. The table was already drenched. Sushma related the chilling tale of how this bungalow had been the guesthouse to British officials in the 1900s. In the early 1920s, a nobleman called Sir Jefferson, who had been passionate about hunting, had occupied this place. One dark evening, during a hunt, he had shot at a deer amidst the grass. But it was not a deer…it was a girl!!! The daughter of the village priest. Sir Jefferson had realized that he would be in deep trouble. So he carried her body away.
“Some people say that he treated her and made her well and took her away to England with him…” Sushma said. Balu snorted, making it clear that he doubted it very much. Sushma continued, “ And others say…” “ What?” I asked hoarsely. “ Others say that she died and he buried her body in this very house…and her ghost has haunted this place ever since.” Sushma finished. Inadvertently, I trembled. Balu looked at me and said heartily, “ Shanti!!! It’s all nonsense…honestly! A ghost indeed…” It would have been reassuring, if I hadn’t felt his knees shaking beneath the table.
“ How can Uncle live in this wretched place?” I asked shakily. “ The doctor doesn’t spend much time here…he leaves before dawn and returns mostly after midnight. And he’s frequently away on tours…” Sushma assured us. “ And you?” Balu asked her. “How can you stay here alone?” She smiled sadly, “ The poor have no choice…my father and I¾”.
Suddenly, a car rumbled into the porch. “ Uncle Param!!!” I exclaimed and we rushed to open the door for him. And there he stood; his bald head shining in the moonlight, and an astonished look on his face. “ How the devil did you get in?” he asked. “ Sushma let us in…the train was late.” Balu said brightly. “ Which Sushma?” he asked, wearing a look of absolute idiocy. Impatiently, Balu gestured at Sushma who was standing behind us. As Uncle continued to look baffled, we turned around…only to face an empty hall!!! The dining table was bare of the dishes it had carried. No smiling young girl appeared. The house seemed awfully quiet.
“ Well, let me in…” Uncle said, pushing in past us. “ I waited at the station for you…but then of course, the train was late. So I headed off to Srinivasan’s house…it’s quite near the station. You know Srinivasan of course…he was sweet on your mother for ages…but she turned him down. Anyway, I was there and…”
As Uncle Param chattered away cheerily, Balu and I stared at each other, too stricken to speak.

TALL TALES

2009-01-23T20:16:00.000+05:30

The train hurtled along the tracks, and we sat inside, staring glumly at each other. The little boy opposite me fidgeted incessantly, and his bearded father held him in a firm grip. The boy’s mother was sitting next to me, nursing a baby. On my right, Balu stared out of the window.
“I’ve had many thrilling encounters with the wild…” the tall, beefy Sardarji in the corner stated out of the blue, and beamed at us in an alarmingly familiar fashion. Since no one else spoke up, and a disconcerting silence filled the air, I ventured politely, “Indeed?”
“Oh, yes! I suppose you already know about it all…” he told me heartily. Having no idea what he was talking about, I said uncertainly, “Er…”
“ I was hardly three feet away from it, you know…hardly three!!!” he asserted proudly. “Er…quite commendable.” the boy’s father mumbled confused.
“Yes!!! And it was over seven feet tall, and hairy all over…baring its teeth at me in a very menacing way…like this…GRRRRR!!!!” He proceeded to growl at us in a most frightening manner and the baby began to wail aloud.
“Was it the Abominable Snowman?” the little boy piped up, his eyes as large as saucers.
“The Yeti? No…no, that was in 1988, when I was in Nainital. This was before…1980, to be exact. I was in Katmandu at the time.”, he stated happily.
“ Then what on earth was it?” Balu snapped at him.
“ A Gorilla, my boy…” he exclaimed, sounding surprised. “ A fully grown male gorilla…not unlike you in appearance, but definitely more hairy.” he added hastily as Balu gave an indignant snort.
“ Oooooooooh!!!” the boy’s mother cried out admiringly.
“Yes.” The man began to warm up to his tale, “I was standing this close to him, with a hand on my rifle, in case he got violent, you know. He looked very mean and dangerous, snarling and spitting at me, baring his teeth threateningly…my legs had turned to jelly, and my teeth chattered in fear…but I only tightened the grip on my rifle and stood my ground.”
We all leaned in closer, holding our breath.
“ Yes sir…there it was, shaking its fist and shuffling towards me…closer…closer…till its great ugly head was in level with mine!!!”
“ Oooooooooh!!!”, the lady shivered in excitement. Balu was breathing heavily and the little boy stared mesmerized at the speaker. His father chewed his knuckles in impatience.
“ Then?” I prompted him.
“ Then…I steadied my nerves, and swiftly brought out my rifle…fully loaded of course, and pushed it into his face…he growled and tried to lung at me…I took aim and my finger tightened on the trigger…three…two…one…DHO!!!!!”
All of us gasped and fell back in fright. (“ Oooooooooh!!!” said the lady.). The boy’s father had fallen off his seat in exhilaration, and questioned from the floor, “ You shot him? You shot him?” Balu’s hair was standing on end, giving him the look of an alien.
“ Yes”, said the Sardarji magnificently, and leaned back on his seat. We all gazed at him in awe. Looking at our thunder-struck faces, he said patronizingly, “ This is nothing…you should hear about the Maharajah’s horse…”
“ Do tell us…” I cried out automatically.
“Well…” he began, as we braced ourselves, “ The late Maharajah of Gundalloor was my very old friend. Of course, monarchy is gone now…but royalty is royalty, any day. Anyway, the Rajah was passionate about racehorses…he had a score of them, all wild, and of the noblest strains…bought from Arabia. They were all tamed and trained by his personnel, under his direct supervision.”
We sat as still as mice, listening in reverence.
“When they bought him in, I was there at the palace, by pure coincidence. He was unlike any stallion I’d ever seen…as black and wild as a stormy night, with a shocking mane of jet-black hair, and burning brown eyes…lofty as the skies and stronger than the strongest…a slight nudge of his foot would’ve killed a man!”
“ Ooooooooh!!!” I echoed the lady inadvertently.
“ Tamer after tamer tried to mount him, but each time, he reared on his hind feet with a neigh that thundered through the palace walls. One of them got kicked and was crippled for life. Two others managed to climb on, but he buckled and they were thrown off to their deaths…and then of course, no one dared come forward. The Rajah turned to me questioningly.”
Balu breathed in sharply. The boy’s father asked in eager impatience, “ Go on, go on…did you try?”
The Sardarji stood up and began to take down his luggage as the train began to slow down.
“ Of course…” he smiled at us nonchalantly.
We waited with bated breath. But he showed no signs of resuming.
“And then, sir? What happened next?” Balu asked in frenzy.
“ Nothing.” he said coolly, picking up his bags, “I couldn’t mount him either.”

There was a sudden hiss as all of us let out the breath we had been holding. The lady stopped in mid “Oooooooh!!!” This was an anticlimax we hadn’t expected.
As he made his way out, leaving us staring stupidly, the boy’s father called out, “ One moment sir, what about the gorilla?”
“ What about it?” the Sardarji seemed annoyed, “ My gun was confiscated and my license cancelled.”
“B-But…” I stuttered, “Was it a restricted area?”
He sighed wearily, and spoke up before marching out,
“ My dear girl…it was in the Katmandu State Zoo.”

Reminiscence

2008-10-18T13:36:00.000+05:30

I rifle through my memory
Like it was a library…
Searching for old favorites…
The classics savored long ago…
I recollect the old characters—
The ones that made me laugh and cry…

I re-read the words written long ago…
The ones they wrote and those I did…
The ones applauded and those unknown…
And feel deflated like a pricked balloon…

I loved music once…
Moonlight made me weep…
Yellow butterflies came my way,
Dancing in the breeze…

Today, I stand in the hot sun…
Wrinkling my brow against the past…
The memories are no longer warm, they are—
Like an awful sweet that I choked on…
Sometimes so cold they make me weep
And sometimes so hot they burn my heart…

They say that man’s a blessed creature
Because he can remember…
I’ve felt blessed too in the past—
In that I could feel so much…
In that my head is not of clay…
In that my heart is not of steel…

But today in this sweltering heat,
In the pressure I heap upon myself—
I stand and wish in earnest desperation…
That I could fade into the emptiness
That only a cool night can bring…

NEIGHBOURING NUISANCE

2008-09-10T22:05:00.000+05:30

The house next door to ours’ had been occupied for years, by deaf old Mrs. Sharma, her cat and her maid. But her son, an IT professional in an MNC and a proud resident of the States, convinced her that the house was too large and too comfortable for a single old lady. The very next week, the house was sold and Mrs. Sharma was taken to a Platinum Years Senior Citizens’ Commune “to have the best of life among her peers” and her son flew back, with reassuring thoughts of his mother’s happiness.
The new owner was a psychiatrist, Dr.Matthew Koottathichavittyl who let the house for rent almost at once. I watched with interest, the comings and goings of our prospective neighbors, reporting to Balu each night that no one had settled for it yet. And then, one fine Sunday morning, we were rudely woken up by screams and sounds of stainless-steel kitchenware tumbling down from a great height. Badly shaken, it took us a while to realize that the noise was coming from next door.
Later that morning, when I was hanging up the clothes, a yellow-streaked head peeked over the wall and said brightly, “Good morning, Aunty”.
This stung, especially because the speaker seemed to be only a couple of years younger than me. I forced a smile and the girl continued, ”I’m Sheila Nambiar. We moved in last night.” I learnt that she and three of her friends, presently doing their MBA had rented the house, and that the bizarre noises we’d heard was in fact, music.
“Music!!!” exclaimed Balu, when I passed him the news, “Why! You sing better than that…” Ignoring his rudeness, I said, “It’s a band called Metallica…apparently, its quite popular.” “ Well, it’ll keep burglars away,” chortled Balu, returning to his paper.
********
The problem turned out to be more severe than we’d imagined. The following day, we returned home to find our garden and verandah littered with empty cans of coke, packets of chips and chewing gum wrappers. By way of apology, Sheila told me that they’d had a party that morning, “…and since our garden is too small for one, we climbed over the wall and used yours’.” The next morning, I found our clothesline sagging under the weight of designer jeans and underwear, none of which seemed familiar. As I goggled at them, Sheila popped up and said that she hoped I didn’t mind their using our clothesline, since theirs’ was on the terrace and she couldn’t be bothered to climb up all the way. I feebly countered that I did mind, but she looked so hurt and affronted that I felt guilty and apologized immediately. The morning parties gave way to nocturnal ones and we began to spend sleepless nights tossing in our beds, listening to loud jazz and sounds of laughter and screams. Balu, who returns home only by ten under normal conditions, now began to stay later and later, finally calling me one day to say the he would be sleeping over at the office and would probably not return for a while.
This necessitated some action on my part, and I complained hotly to Dr. Matthew. The girls moved out the following week, Balu came back home, and all was well for a while. And then, Mr. Pereira moved in. Paunchy and bald, with a Veerappan moustache, he seemed all right, till he opened his car to let out two huge Alsatians and three tabby cats. The dogs thrived on our slippers and Balu’s ankles, and Mr. Pereira did little to improve the situation. The three cats were very friendly and treated our home as theirs’. They lovingly waited for us each evening ¾behind doors, between bed sheets, around corners and inside the fridge. The final blow came when Balu woke up from his afternoon siesta with a blood-curdling yell, to find a tabby snoozing on his chest. So, off we went, round to the doctor, who gazed at us thoughtfully before grunting in agreement.
******
The next in line were Mr. and Mrs. Nair, a quiet, retired couple who seemed nice and amiable and we spent a fortnight in complete harmony with them. One rainy night, Mrs. Nair rang our doorbell and tearfully told us that her old man was terribly ill. Alarmed, we rushed over, to find him groaning and moaning in pain. Balu got out his car, and drove recklessly in the pouring rain. We got him to the hospital within fifteen minutes and Balu had a fine row with the night-duty nurse, who refused to wake up the doctor. Finally, the doctor arrived, and it was while we were waiting outside the observation room anxiously, that Dr. Joyce D’costa came out and barked us at irritably, ”Why don’t you ask the patient what is wrong before you rush him to a hospital? Ignorant fools…”
We stared at each other bewildered till the smug-looking nurse told us that Mr. Nair had been suffering from a toothache.
*******
When we approached Dr. Matthew for the third time, he viewed us speculatively and suggested mildly that we may be suffering from populophobia or aversion to people. This put things in a whole new light, and the evidence he presented was so overwhelmingly convincing, that we at once paid his registration fee of Rs.500 and joined up for counseling.

FESTIVE FIASCO

2008-09-09T12:26:00.000+05:30

This story is especially for a friend of mine who likes Balu and Shanti as much as I do...
And since this happens to be MY blog, I might as well blow my own trumpet--this story is one of my 7 works(involving these two characters) which got published in the Indian Express...
hehe.

*
One Sunday afternoon, I answered the doorbell, only to find a bunch of plastic flowers thrust into my hand.
“ Good afternoon aunty, we hope you are fine.”
Before me stood the neighborhood hooligans, Rohan and Sameeksha, wearing bright smiles and clean clothes. I stared at them in unflattering disbelief, realizing faintly that a great honour was being conferred upon me, for Rohan had never before addressed anyone by any term even remotely polite. His clothes were always mud-stained and limbs always bruised. But today, he seemed the very picture of respectability; even his black eye seemed to apologize for its unwanted presence.
A packet of biscuits later, they came to the point.
“ I’m the secretary of ROP and Sameeksha is my assistant. We are here to solicit Uncle Vivek’s aid in accomplishing some of our loftier goals.” Rohan stated. As Balu and I continued to look blank, Sameeksha elaborated. “We are from the Representatives of Posterity and need uncle Vivek to hang up our Christmas star on the mango tree in Colonel Nair’s yard.”
As the appeal began, (“We heard that you were a champion athlete at school, Uncle Vivek!!!” “ I bet a tree would be nothing to you after all those rock-climbing expeditions you’ve gone for, right?”) I shook my head furiously behind their backs, but it was a losing battle. Balu was soon swaggering out of the door, trying in vain to look modest, saying, “ Get our ladder Shanti…”
*
The children suggested that the Colonel should not be disturbed in his afternoon siesta and so we proceeded in silence, punctuated by their whispers of encouragement (“You look exactly like a gorilla, Uncle Vivek…I-I mean…you climb with the agility of a gorilla…”) and my earnest muttered prayers to ward off widowhood. Balu was soon way up the tree, with the folded paper star between his teeth, probably fantasizing himself as a dashing young highwayman climbing up the ivy with a Persian knife held in his teeth. He was further encouraged when Susamma Koshy came out to empty the garbage, saw us and joined in with exclamations of “ Wow! How brave of you Vivek…” Unfortunately, her voice was as shrill as a dog-whistle, and roused half the neighborhood, which crowded around, calling out, “ Move to the left!” “ Careful, now…that branch’s weak…I saw it wobble.”
“ Right there Uncle Balu…hang it on that bough!”
Balu settled himself on the bough in question, legs dangling, and proceeded to undo the star. Suddenly, Colonel Nair, materialized behind me and growled, “ What the hell is he doing up there?”
“ Hanging up a Christmas star…” Renju offered politely.
“ Well…I hope he lives to see it.” The old man said irritably.
“W-What…?” I stuttered.
“ My dear girl,” he said, wheeling me around, and pointing with his walking stick, “…there, you see? That’s a beehive hanging inches from his left ear!!!”
*
Rohan and Sameeksha had mysteriously disappeared. Everyone wondered how they had missed seeing such a very big hive when it’d been hanging right under their noses and pondered over how to warn him. Balu was too high up to overhear any conversation.
“ The best thing would be to let him know in the gentlest way as possible…” Potty told me gently, with the air of a well-meaning doctor consoling the dying man’s wife.
“ Don’t worry Shanti, Dr. Prakash is at home today…he is the best specialist in the city. And anyway, very few people have been known to die of bee stings…the poison usually causes only paralysis.” Someone said, offering me a hanky.
“ Well, good thing he is insured.” LIC agent Ahmed assured me.
“ Come to think of it…” Colonel Nair said slowly, “…It isn’t a beehive after all…”
“It isn’t?” I asked eagerly.
“No…it’s a wasp’s nest.”
*
“Balu…” I called out hesitantly.
“ What?” he shouted back.
As his hand swayed dangerously near the hive, I called out alarmed, “There’s a wasp’s nest near your arm…”
“What?” he hollered, peering down through the foliage.
“THERE’S A WASP’S NEST NEAR YOUR ARM!!!” five different voices bellowed along with me.
With a yelp like a beaten bulldog, Balu slipped off the bough, dangling dangerously with only one leg over it, arms flailing helplessly. The next minute it was…pandemonium. All of us ran for cover, as a swarm of angry, buzzing wasps descended upon us like the plague. People ran, stumbled, fell…got stung; screamed; got up and tried to run, and tripped over dhotis, saris, and their own feet. I got stung pretty well before I yanked open the door of a car parked nearby and jumped in. Potty too got into one but unfortunately, a wasp got in with him; And then, with a terrific crash, Balu dropped back to earth. “Over here…” I called out excitably pushing open the door, and he raced inside, slamming the door shut. Susamma ran all the way to her house, shrieking like a steam engine, and escaped, but not before the wasps had their turn; Plump Mrs. Pillai plopped face down on the road, effectively shielding her face, but had her ample bottom stung to soreness. Colonel Nair seemed to go berserk and lashed about with his walking stick, hitting more people than wasps. Ahmed would have made it into the house, had he not been landed with a terrific swipe from the Colonel, and fallen flat. Abandoning all modesty, he rolled himself in his dhoti and dragged himself under Potty’s car.
*
It was a festive Christmas covered in white cotton, if not snow. We looked like a colony of mummies, swathed in bandages and plasters. Smiles seemed to resemble grimaces, and people made each other presents of antiseptic Burnol and Neosporin tubes. Spirits were definitely low everywhere…drooping even more at the sight of the red paper star hanging from the Colonel’s mango tree.

OOps!!!

2008-09-01T19:21:00.000+05:30

Yesterday during an afternoon session on Functions & Graphs at TIME,
I had a rude shock. One of my friends (who I have never before seen inside a class in the afternoon) was sitting in the second bench!
I wondered if I had drunk too much Appy Fizz (it gets me drunk), then walked up to him and asked playfully,
“Ha! What are you doing here?”

To somewhat my surprise, he squirmed around, shrugged and said, “Chumma…”
I mean, this is the guy who has a come back for everything you say. If you say “France is the Land of 365 Cheeses…that’s a different kind everyday!” he will quip “Not a leap year!”

I insisted, “Seriously. What are you doing here?” I half-suspected that he had followed some pretty girl inside, but on second look, there weren’t any pretty girls in class (except me of course.)

He asked me, “What are you doing here?”
Well, that was definitely rude. I have been attending classes regularly since last December. And though the effects weren’t exactly apparent in my mock CAT scores, there was no need to rub it in. So I said rather haughtily,
“I have been right here for quite a while…”

He goggled at me and said, “Gosh! You sound so humble…”

I had a feeling something was wrong somewhere.
“I just wondered if you had decided to improve…that’s all…you don’t normally sit for afternoon classes, do you? And I don’t think you have sat in a three-hour session anytime in the recent past…” I elaborated.

“THREE HOUR CLASS??”
He gaped at me.
“Yea…on Functions and graphs…” I said, bewildered.
“Ithu class aano? I thought it was the Toppers’ Club Discussion…let me get the hell out of here...see you later!!!” he kind of screamed in a panicked voice, grabbed his bag and rushed headlong out of the class.

There was utter silence for a while, as heads turned around and stared at me.
A girl sitting nearby asked me, “What did you do to him?”
What did I do? What did I do?

The scene must have been quite interesting from their point of view, I guess.
Imagine a guy sitting in class quietly. Then a girl comes up and sits down with him and starts talking. In a minute, he jumps up panic stricken and all but rushes madly out of the class…
I guess my reputation is in shreds by now.

But I realized half the humor of the situation only later.
According to him, this was a toppers’ Club, and I was asking him scornfully what the hell he was doing there…and when he questioned me mildly, I replied haughtily, “I have been right here for ages…”
No wonder he said, “How humble…”
:D

Ode to Words

2008-09-01T14:51:00.001+05:30

I am basically music crazy…most days when I step out of the house, there is some song playing inside my head… (I admit—sometimes it’s ‘Balikuderangale…’ especially on DC exam days…)
I wish I lived inside a movie…
:D
“Amma entrazhaykkada uyirillaye…” is one of The Best for depth of emotion portrayed…I feel all sniffly and feel I have to be extra nice to mom at least for the next 10 minutes…though of course it was a bit of a shock to find out that its from a Rajnikanth movie !
My brother has filters in his ears to filter out lyrics and voice..he hears only the tabla or the mridangam or whatever percussion is in the background… most people I know don’t really notice or remember lyrics…but to me, it’s impossible not to follow the meaning of a song! Music is without language barriers, I agree…but some lyrics are beautiful…
And as stunning as the music…
I always marvel at the words….somebody must have actually felt all that, to have been able to write such words!!! I envy them that they could do that…
:)
Like “Kabhi kabhi…”
What else could Love be if not such a humble and awed questioning? What else is Love if not this—when you feel that it’s so incredible that somebody so wonderful and precious should actually want to be with you for the rest of their lives?
And that famous line in Casablanca – “Of all the gin joints in all the world, she had to walk into mine…”

It’s not just confined to lyrics… there is this line in the English translation of Xiao Qing’s “Mimosa” where a peasant girl says,

“If they chopped off my head, I’d still follow you with the blood dripping…”

What literary genius could express such a sentiment? This was the basest, crudest and incredibly, painfully touching declaration of love I’ve ever come across…

And apart from the sentiments, the words that describe a place…a memory…

This one is from an Agatha Christie--
“She would sit in the shade of the rock chamber entrance with one knee raised and her hands clasped around it, and stare out over the green belt of cultivation to where the Nile showed a pale gleaming blue and beyond it to a distance of pale soft fawns and creams and pinks, all melting hazily into each other…”

And from Ayn Rand’s ‘Anthem’ –
“And now we look upon the earth and sky. This spread of naked rock and peaks
and moonlight Is like a world ready to be born, a world that waits. It seems to us it
asks a sign from us, a spark, a first commandment. We cannot know what word we are to give, or what great deed this earth expects to witness. We know It waits. It seems to say it has great gifts to lay before us, but It wishes a greater gift for us.
We are to speak. We are to give its goal, its highest meaning to all this glowing
space of rock and sky. We look ahead; we beg our heart for guidance
We look upon our hands. We see the dust of centuries, the dust which hid the great secrets and perhaps great evils….”

How can I leave out Keats’ ‘Ode to a nightingale’ ??
“O! for a beaker of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene…
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim.
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:”

And these…
“I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what sweet incense hangs on the boughs…
The grass, the thicket, the fruit-tree wild;
White hawthorn and the pastoral eglantine;
Fast fading violets, covered up in leaves;
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves…”

Ahh…words…words...

2008-09-01T14:51:00.000+05:30

I’m a sucker for beautiful lyrics…
:D
These are some of my favourites…

“Hamein tumse pyaar kitna…yeh hum nahin jaante…
Magar jee nahin sakthe tumhare bina…”

*
“Yeh zindagi aapki ki hi amanat rahegi…
Dil mein sadaa aapki mohabbat rahegi…
In saason ko aapki hi zaroorat rahegi…”

*
“Someday, someway together we will be, baby!
You take …and I’ll take my time…
We’ll wait for our Fate…
Because nobody owns us baby…”
*
“Tere yaadon ki saayein mein guzregi hum zindagi…
Chahe jo…maang lo!
Sab tumhara hain…”
*
“Ariyathe neeyente hridayamaam venuvil anuraga sangeethamayi…
Madhuramen mounavum paadi…”
*
“Tu jo paas ho, phir kyaa ye jahaan…
Tere pyaar mein ho jaon fanaa…”
*
“Oru naal kadal en vaasalil varavaa varava kettathu…
Maru naal kadal en veettukkul, adimai saasana meettuthu…”
*
“Pyaar bin jeene mein rakha kya hain?
Pyaar kisko nahin, who tanha hai…”
*
“Tu bin bataayein mujhe le chal kahin…
Jahaan tu muskuraaye..meri manzil wahein…
Jahaan hain teri waahein…mera saahil wahein…
Jise tu gungunaayein…meri dhun hain wahein…”
*
“Alai kadalai aditha manam..tulli tulliyaay sidariyathe…
Irudayame, tudikkirathaa? Tudippathu pol nadikkirathaa?”
*

When they are coupled with the music, they are just so…so …beautiful!!!

ON FAIRNESS

2008-08-19T23:18:00.000+05:30

Things are so pathetic in my life that if i successfully cash an electricity bill, i feel irrationally proud of myself.
Today i volunteered to reserve a railway ticket.
It tuk me 20 minutes to realise that the Resrvation counters were in a separate buliding, and not in the main station complex.
Then another 5 to realise that the huge, mad crowd there wanted to reserve tickets too...
After 10 minutes or so of gaping, the realisation arrived that i should take a token and wait...
My token number was 2076...and the one being currently processed was 1830!!!
After standing for 40 minutes, a lady in fornt took pity on me and gave me a token numbered 1997, saying she had taken two, and this was one.
As soon as i thanked her, a man came upto me and asked, "You are Kishore's daughter, right?"
i said yes.
He told me he used to know my father and that he worked there. In the Reservation Dpt.
He took my money and booked those tickets for me. And i sailed out of the room ages before that lady who had given me one of her tokens.
Life is what-- Fair? Unfair?
Or just plain opportunistic??

A Walk that helped

2008-08-14T10:51:00.000+05:30

I am selfish.
The very fact that I choose to begin yet another blog this way, just proves it...
I just realized that I blog for my own satisfaction. Not that I don't care about readership, but I blog to tell myself that there is still something I can do... and it helps to have someone reading the stuff that you are churning out...
A favourite teacher of mine told me last week, "Sensitive people like you need an outlet..."
Am I sensitive to anything other than MY emotions? MY situations? I wonder...
.............................
I get random bouts of frustration when no book or music will help... and I need a long, long, brisk and aimless walk to clear my system...
I did that yesterday. I walked continuously for two hours oblivious to the paths I took, trying to sort out all the stuff that's been bothering me...
Like they say in Self-help books ( by the way, please NEVER read "The monk who sold his Ferari"...it's the worst self-improvement book you could read...unless of course you count the fact that if you can read That book, nothing worse could happen to you...)... I have tried to put down all my random frustrations.
1) I have two job offers now--about which I am honestly glad-- but ironically, I don't want
either of them!!! And what I do want, requires lots and lots of hardwork...which I seem unable
to put in, owing to a many different factors...
2) How do you know if someone genuinely likes you or if he is just having a fling?
It's like the scalded cat's case... sigh.
3) I have Attention Deficit Disorder.
4) My moods swing from one extreme to the other in a matter of minutes.
Even a good lyric makes me cry... a yellow butterfly makes me grin like an idiot. Is it another
kind of disorder?
Listing all that helps...at least, it seems to me now that my problems are not as bad as some others' and that I ought to be glad with what I have... at least, I have yellow butterflies coming my way...

Fortunate Times

2008-08-04T19:13:00.000+05:30

Fortune is a fickle Lady...
Sometimes you have everything going your way--plenty of fun; plenty of opportunities...
you talk to people you like...old friends call up unexpectedly...and though you have behaved abominably with them, people still stay as wonderful as ever...

And yes, you are unexpectedly with the right person at the right time; A small problem comes your way, and left to you, you would blow it out of proportion; you would worry over it for days...but somehow, there are more sensible people around...they knock some sense into you...
There's someone to say, "Arrey! chodna yaar..."
And blissfully, you forget.

You have a terrible headache and unexpectedly, there's one last sachet of coffee left in the cupboard--as if it had been waiting just for you...
A book that you have been searching for for years suddenly turns up-- some wonderful person actually mails it to you, without you ever having asked them for it! (By the way, i'm talking about Daphne du Maurier's "Rebecca").
Your brother brings home loads of chart paper and paints and you help him make collages and cut outs for your School Fest-- and your old House turns out first...after 5 years, you are still able to work for your house...

There is so much more.... I wish Life were as beautiful forever...
:D

Nostalgia, or the scent of books...

2008-07-10T10:40:00.000+05:30

We have a library upstairs.
When I say ‘library’ I mean it…it’s got three walls covered with shelves that are filled with books… my grandfather’s and father’s collection of over 60 years, and now, my own smaller growing one. There’s a balcony that opens out of the library, and if you stand there at night when everything is quiet, you can hear the sea…

The walls are painted green, and the marble slab that partitions it from the hall is laden too… the old classics (Dickens, Hardy, Bronte and the rest), loads of Enid Blyton, Christie, Forsyth, Archer, Sheldon… and the Indo-English touch that I like(Arundhati Roy and Jhumpa Lahiri), some really delightful Russian literature— the ones for children are simply splendid—my favorites being “Krack Team”,” Alice” and “The ruffled sparrow”… lots of Communist and Socialist literature, some fine poetry collections…translations and studies on the Mahabharata and the Geetha, thick volumes on Linguistics and Philology(those were my father’s majors for his PG), loads of Malayalam works, ancient editions of the Mathrubhoomi Weekly, all 21 parts of the (now obsolete) Viswavijnanakosham, a stack of travelogues, some books on Art(a study of art from Da Vinci and Michelangelo to Ruebens, Vuillard and Van Gogh…with enchanting photographs of their most famous works)… I’ve spent hours merely lying here on the floor and looking up at all the books around me, feeling more content and joyous than anywhere else……simply describing them here brings me so much pleasure!

But it is also a sad room in some ways. It reminds me too much of my father. Of the evenings we used to play caroms here…the poetry he taught me…and the paintings he made with me…I remember him saying, “Draw a cat in its exact form so that it looks frighteningly real…and people will say it’s good work…but draw a few lines, a few curves and when people stand back and say musingly, “Hey, isn’t that a cat?”, then yours’ is a great work!”. He was a lover of the abstract. A quiet, unassuming and selfless man who, to me, is a hazy and painfully sweet memory.

I stood at the balcony this morning and watched my mother drive away…and I wondered,
Where does Death take you? Is it true that when people die, they still stay in their most beloved places? In that case, my father would be here. In this library, among all the books that he so loved once. In this balcony, where he used to stand and listen to the sea.
He must have been here for over ten years; standing here at the balcony and watching each of us walk down the driveway to the gate—to school, college or work… And I knew where the involuntary “Bye, Acha…” that I say whenever I leave the house, comes from…and that I am fully justified in saying goodbye to a person long gone, but inexplicably, still here…it is here that I look for the remnants of his soul—amidst the pages of these books, in these yellowing sheets of paper that he covered with poetry and his words…

Love, actually!

2008-07-09T16:59:00.000+05:30

I was wondering today, what are the things that men and women find attractive in the opposite sex? Is it looks or intelligence or character...or something beyond all the obvious?Some unforseen circumstance that brought them closer?

And automatically, I remembered all the crushes I've had since the age of thirteen(yea, I began the journey then!) and tried to single out what attracted me in them... and I discovered that I was a hopeless romantic at heart! I'd placed man after man on the white horse that I'd conjured up in my imagination, and made him wear the armour of honour whether it suited him or not...and each time, I found something unbecoming and made them dismount...

I am speaking now about the only serious crush I've ever had-- and it amazes me today to what extent I'd idolized the poor guy! It always saw him as the embodiment of perfection-- one of my favourite images of him is how he used to play basketball, with his white shirt buttoned up to his collar, and hardly loosened tie... to me, he never sweated; never shouted...his shirts were never soiled... his shoes immaculately polished...

He was a picture of perfection-- the guy who always smelt clean...who always spoke softly and intelligently...who was never irritable or rude...who was always a gentleman... Mind you, I'm not saying that he was all this--he may or may not have been. But this is the image I carried in my heart. This is the perfect picture I fell for.

And today, I laugh at the ridiculous child I was then!

I hardly knew him...and yet, I'd convinced myself that he was my Knight in the shining armour...which goes to prove, doesn't it, that true love is way different from what we think it is...

I guess I've grown up from then...with a clearer head and clearer ideas of who and what I want...To me Love is something that just happens... you may try to curb your feelings, stop yourself from getting committed....but if it is the one true love that is meant to be, it will endure. In spite of everything that stands in the way--including your conflicting emotions-- it will live on... such love will last...a love based not on mad attraction-- but on the solid grounds of companionship...a love that grows everyday--that will last--on shared music, shared conversations...that will warm your life in the inky blue evenings 20 years hence...

Ok, I sound like something out of a self-help book...but really, I'm only voicing my ideas, my hopes...I have a friend who doesn't believe in Love anymore... but try as I might, I can't make myself to not believe in it... I just have this feeling that someday, somewhere I will meet someone who was made for me...who will grow old by my side... for whom all the love songs ever written were meant for...

Hmm...I'm still a hopeless romantic... hehe.

In the pursuit of happiness

2008-07-01T21:54:00.000+05:30

My brother got a brand new digital camera yesterday, and when he went off to school, I played around with it. I wanted to take a good picture of myself-- one without blemishes...
The first few ones didn't look promising... I changed hairstyles...it did no good;
Then I tried a bit of eye-liner...next, a different background... a different t-shirt...
I must have taken atleast 35 snaps...and deleted every one in frustration.
I looked even worse than usual.
I went through the old pictures taken during our tour...and I was surprised to see how good I looked in most of them... how gladly I was laughing... how carefree I looked....
I looked at them with a kind of envy-- at the tangible joy those pictures seemed to radiate...
at the warmth of the memories...
And I looked at the pictures I'd taken today and compared them.
"You are a bad photographer...that's why..." I told myself, knowing it wasn't true. Not this bad.
"It's the whole atmosphere really-- today is so rainy, so dull and grey...". But I love the rain.
It was Mom who tactlessly hit the nail on the head, " It doesn't matter what you wear, it only matters whether or not you are happy inside... the inner happiness will always show...".

I reminded myself abusrdly, painfully of these lines by Nathaniel Hawthorne,
"Happiness is like a butterfly...if you pursue it, it always flits away...but if you sit back and wait, it will land lightly on your finger...".
I have been waiting too long, I think. When will it flit by?
Or had it already flown past and I never noticed?
I was reminded of the time I told a friend I didnt have much fun going out these days, and he said casually, "When did you ever have fun?"
Funny how it still hurts. And the only answer--and a lame one at that-- I can give--to myself, rather than to him--is that I have indeed been happy...3 or 4 years ago...in another place...in another time...
But I know now--better than many others--that one cannot live in the past. One has to move on... in the pursuit of happiness.

To me, happiness has always been associated with success. And like Keats, I have been half-in-love with success...
" To laugh often and love much;
To win the respect of intelligent persons
and the affection of children;
To earn the appreciation of honest critics
and endure the betrayal of friends;
To appreciate beauty and find the best in others;
To give one's self without the slightest thought of return;
To have accomplished a task well...
To have played and laughed with enthusiasm
and sung with exalation;
To know that even one life has breathed easier because you lived...
This is to have succeeded."

Sad, Fond memory tells me that I was once successful; that once, I'd found my pot of gold at the end of the rainbow...that I had zoomed towards the moon on a Nataraj pencil and tiptoed across the night sky in silver shoes...

And today ( ages later, it seems to me), I stand alone; bereft of everything save my unbearable dissatisfaction and clutching bewildered at my treasure chest of now-useless memories...
I must go back, I realize. To those times, to that era where I was so much-- so loved, so loving...whose opinions mattered... and therein, my way ahead appears.
I must court Success. Call him the same sweet names that Keats called Death...
And finally, when he comes, he will hopefully bring with him the happiness, the security...and everything else my life now lacks.

2008-06-28T18:45:00.000+05:30

i am: a butterfly that fluttered by, a cool breeze, an oasis, a hopeless romantic and a bitch...
i think: about all the wonderful things in the world that i have yet to see...
i know: much about some things and zilch about others...
i want: to live a wild, wild life--have fun;do crazy things;fall madly in love with someone who's worth it all...
i have: an elusive beauty, intelligence, a sense of humour and lots of irrational likes/dislikes...
i wish: i were as free as the wild winds...to blow where i like...to run wild and free....
i hate: cats, sweeeeeet girls, loud-mouthed guys, bad breath, stubby fingers, men who fall for the said sweeet girls...
i miss: the way my heart used to nearly burst with happiness a few years ago...
i fear: suffering.
i feel: a myriad of emotions--swift and flitting...and sometimes, nothing at all...
i hear: His reply to all my questions and ponderings...
i smell: of lux + cinthol talcum powder...
i crave: sometimes, a kiss.
i search: for the elusive happiness
i wonder: about the wonders of the world-- how many rich emotions we can feel, about butterfly wings and the smell of the rain, about violin music and van gogh's sunflowers...
i regret: that i am just a humbug in many ways.
i love: potato chips/french fries, coffee, dark chocolate, ice cream, music, books and interesting men...
i ache: sometimes on cold, lonely nights...
i am not: pretty, graceful or feminine.
i dance: with great enthusiasm and energy if not grace...
i sing: songs by bombay jayasree...hers' is the only pitch my alto can match...
i cry: less now than i used to.
i dont always: do what i ought to do...
i fight: very little these days...
i write: anything i feel like...
i win: over people if i want them to like me...
i lose: when i allow myself to...
i never: help anyone selflessly...
i always: do what i like, however others may feel...
i confuse: gouri.d when i advise her...
i listen: to music and Ice Man(sometimes)...
i can usually be found: lost in thought, online or snuggled down wid a book...
i need: freedom of thought and expression...
i am happy about: the fact that i am ME...wouldn't trade myself for anyone, however bad things are...
i imagine: what my life will be like in a few years time...
i tag: *insert name here*

SPRING CLEANING

2008-05-21T13:25:00.000+05:30

I have been cribbing about the dull grey sameness of life, for such a long time...Mom got fed up of it yesterday.
"If you'll only look around, you'll find plenty of things that are lying their, begging to be done..."
My mother is a rather determined, and single-minded lady, and my defences were rather low yesterday. So i spent this morning trying to clean out my room.
I have been putting off the task since... lemme see...last November, i suppose...
Don't think i am a slattern; i'm not. but there are certain tasks that plead to be left alone too, and this is definitely one of them.
My desk is cluttered with the debris of the ages (and i discovered everything on it from a dead cockroach to my brother's Hall Ticket, of whose absence he had apparently been unaware so far, though he pretended to have been searching for it for years)...
My bed is completely obscured by clothing...the clothes i wore last week, the ones i tried on and kept aside (uh, threw aside) to be worn next week, umm...underwear ...the clothes to be ironed, and those that my mom folded up and told me to keep inside last Tuesday...
As an engineer, i have been taught to divide a task into small 'manageable' modules... Jury, please note---the keyword here is 'manageable'. So i start with that...
In order to clear up my bed, i have to find shelter for those poor abandoned clothes...so, that brings us to my cupboard...which is too small and poorly built...so poorly built in fact, that as soon as you open it a crack, a muffled thumping can be heard and a whole cascade of clothes sweep out and tumble onto the floor...So, here we are, on the floor.
My floor is comparitively neat...apart from the tumbled-down clothing, chocolate wrappers, the contents of my geometry box and loose sheets of paper, there's not much there...and it's way cleaner than the ceiling, which has this rather noisy (and dusty) ceiling fan right in the middle, and loads of cobwebs that keep it company with wavery dances...
And sitting in the middle of such mess, i wonder...why me?
I've been to my friends' places, and all their rooms are spotless....no dust, no cobwebs; the clothes are miraculously pressed and safely harboured within the almirahs...and some of them actually study AT their desks! (Since i don't study either, that isn't much of a problem, just a surprise...)
But i pride myself on my resourcefulness...on my ability to take the bull by the horns;
By noon, my room is clean.
That is, the mess which was in the middle of the floor has now been shifted to the edges; Half the clothes were stuffed into the laundry basket and the rest i dumped in my brother's cupboard...One sweep, and the chocolate wrappers flee into unaccessible corners amidst the furniture and my task is done.
Mom's happy, i'm more than happy.
Till my brother discovers my lace petticoat among his clothes.

Five most annoying things in Life

2008-05-20T20:17:00.000+05:30

I seem to have lost the ability to write in paragraphs...
1) Having to use your brains when you have a cold.
2)Having to stop pat in the middle of an interesting converstion.
3)Spraining your neck during the weekend.
4)Power failure when you are listening to good music
5)Falling in love with a dress and buying it, only to try it on and find it too small.

8 Random Facts about me...

2008-04-21T16:20:00.000+05:30

Here are 8 random facts about me…as random as I could get…
1) I hate western toilets…
2) I loathe cats…and I have this fantasy about wringing a cat’s neck and hearing the tiny bones snap…gross, huh?
(PS :-I’ll tell you the story of how a cat ate my ethakka appam once, sometime later)
3) I get a kick out of drinking Appy Fizz…I suspect sometimes that I can get drunk on it...
4) I can love and hate people at the same time
5) I prefer tooth powder to tooth paste.
6) I honestly believe that nobody can fall in love with me…sometimes I’m thankful for it…and sometimes not…
7) I love my eyebrows…hehe.
8) Sometimes I like watching mush movies (like Notting Hill, MBFW, Slap her, she’s French and HDDCS) and mush books (like the ones by Jilly Cooper)

Matters of the Mind

2008-04-18T13:10:00.000+05:30

I read Hari's blog recently...where he confesses his lack of memory for old faces...and past incidents...and i was amazed, me being someone who has dwelt quite a lot in the past...for years together even...

There was a time soon after I entered college when I was dreaming about my school life all the time...I have already poured out my early woes in an old, old post (In the light of the other days, just in case you are interested...)...and I saw only joyful things...still see, in fact; the past has always seemed to me a glorious one, with even tears tasting sweet...but when I say past, I mean the period from 1988 to 2005...no later.

I saw a friend at Ragam recently, and we fell to talking about our lives now...and I was amazed at the contrast...he was indescribably happy, having fun...he was smiling; and I? What came to my mind was Rahel's question in The God of Small Things, where she asks, "If you are happy in dreams, does it count?"

Happiness that counts. And that doesn't.

It's time for realisations and acceptance.

I realise it all now...how precious every moment of joy is and how incredibly rare...

...how lucky it is to have someone who really cares about you...and how luck runs out fast...and how there are always people who are willing to take a chance with you...and how ironic it is, that nevertheless, vacant spots can never be filled...especially in one's heart...

...and how easy it is to fall in and out of love...how easy to forget and classify handsome faces you once craved as "just an old flame" ...and how impossibly it is to let go of a friend...how when a friend leaves, he prises out a bit of you and takes it with him...and how you will never again be the same...

...and how you think you are strong and people think you are strong...and how difficult it is to keep up with the pretence of being so...

...and however much you try to distract yourself, by reading every scrap of paper you can lay your hands on, or wasting hours online, hoping to take your mind off things...or watching movies with Nedumudi Venu as the hero...all it takes is a glimpse of the edge of an old birthday card, or a beloved photograph, or a stranger's gait on the street...

On second thoughts, I envy Hari...that he can forget...and so effortlessly...

i've bin Tagged by Ganesh...

2008-04-10T16:29:00.000+05:30

LAST MOVIE YOU SAW IN A THEATRE?
Happy Days…
2. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING?
Papillon by Henri Charriere
3. FAVORITE BOARD GAME
Chinese Checkers…it’s not exactly a board game…more of a star shaped plastic tray…
4. FAVORITE MAGAZINE
Definitely not Mahilaratnam
5. FAVORITE SMELLS
Smell of new text books, floors freshly mopped with Lizol, petrol, certain agarbathees…
6. FAVORITE SOUND
Can’t think of any right now…
7. WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD
Self-pity
8. WHAT'S THE FIRST THING YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE UP?”Is it Sunday yet?” and then,
“Shit…”
Or
“Gud…”
9. FAVORITE FAST FOOD PLACE
A place in Goa whose name I can’t remember…
10. FUTURE CHILD'S NAME
Boy or Girl…he/she is going to be called Manu at home…
11. FINISH THIS STATEMENT "IF I HAD A LOT OF MONEY I'D...
"…travel to a lot of places I badly want to see…
12. DO YOU DRIVE FAST?
I ride a BSA Ladybird, with a rusty front wheel and a basket that will fall off if I try to pedal; So…
13. DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL?
My pillow…it’s stuffed too…
14. STORMS - COOL OR
Supercool
15. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CAR?
A red-and-yellow one on which I could sit and push myself on
16. FAVORITE DRINK?
If I am thirsty…Water.
If not, Vanilla/ chocolate milkshake
If I’m dreaming, champagne
17. FINISH THIS STATEMENT "IF I HAD THE TIME I WOULD
…waste it, like I’m doing now
18. DO YOU EAT THE STEMS ON BROCCOLI
I've never eaten broccoli
19. IF YOU COULD DYE YOUR HAIR ANY COLOUR, WHAT WOULD BE YOUR CHOICE
I'd streak it with bronze…
20. NAME ALL THE CITIES/TOWNS YOU'VE LIVED
Trivandrum
21. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH
Mom having verbal squabbles with anybody except me…
22. ONE NICE THING ABOUT THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU
He has unwittingly taught me a lot of lessons…
23. WHAT'S UNDER YOUR BED?
A huge carton of La Opala glassware that we got for our house-warming 10 years ago, an old, damaged toaster that my aunt brought back from Tanzania and loose sheets of one-sided paper…
24. WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE BORN AS YOURSELF AGAIN?
Of course…
25. MORNING PERSON OR NIGHT OWL?
Evening…
26. OVER EASY OR SUNNY SIDE UP
huh?
27. FAVORITE PLACE TO RELAX
The flight of stairs outside my house, going upto the little terrace…
28. FAVORITE PIE
Haven't had pie so far
29. FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR
Chocolate and vanilla…preferably both on one icecream…yum!
30. OF ALL THE PEOPLE YOU TAGGED THIS TO, WHO'S MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND FIRST?I
'm supposed to fucking tag people now?

One Way Of Living

2008-04-03T14:42:00.000+05:30

There is so much going on now in my mind, and yet, it feels so curiously light...there is a new-found something within me...a something that has changed me in irreversible and perhaps, incredible ways....a something that made me climb down first from the spot-lit stage i so loved once to the position behind the podium as an announcer...and from there to the critic's seat among the audience, looking up at the happenings on stage, smiling derisively and leaning back...as if none of it matters personally to me...the same something that made me say non-chalantly, dispassionately, to a dear-beloved friend, "Maybe we will just stop talking gradually...quite possible..."...that made me hang up without a word on someone who had mattered so much just a little while ago...that something which allows me to live with a clear conscience, without sparing a thought for the family crisis that we are facing just now...

I'm in awe of it...this novel feeling of indifference...it brings me neither joy, nor comfort; neither does it hurt.

It is the only thing that lets me move on...

Vazhiyorakkazhchakal

2008-04-03T14:28:00.000+05:30

This afternoon, while returning from college, I accidentally walked into a scene I have so far seen only in Malayalam movies of the 1980’s…

It is utsavam at our Palkulangara Devi temple, and there was a ubiquitous smell of elephant dung all around… Add to that, loudspeakers belting out “Manikka veena” and “Prema bhikshuki…”…A balloon man surrounded by kids; a peddler with an ice-lolly cart…men in white mundus and kuris hanging around talking…all with plates of rice and cups of orange juice from the Annadanam counter…old women stretching their legs by the roadside, chewing vettila and gossiping loudly…

In front of me were two little girls carrying a big-shopper between them, with long, oiled plaits hanging down their backs, giggling and sucking sip-ups…I slowed down deliberately, trying to walk behind them… trying to remember the last time I ever sucked a sip-up… trying to stay in the illusion a little longer…

DRIVING DISASTERS

2008-03-19T20:49:00.000+05:30

Mastering new skills is my brother’s hobby. Of course, he doesn’t always master them but claims that the very experience is rewarding. His latest undertaking was learning to ride a two-wheeler. I cannot claim that he succeeded hundred percent, but in a manner of speaking….
Perched on my Uncle’s rickety old Scooty, Nandu gazed around at all of us proudly. “All of us” included my Ma (bursting with pride at her beloved son’s newly acquired skill) armed with a Kodak camera, my Granny who had come all the way from Vembaayam by bus and bullock-cart just to witness this occasion, my Grandfather standing at the porch with a worried frown on his face and belting out the dire consequences of driving without a learner’s license (“You might get caught by the traffic police. They may take the scooter away…you maybe arrested, or worse—fined!”) And of course, me.

He had the air of a smug circus performer who seemed to have conferred a great honour on the general public by letting them watch his piece without tickets.
As he turned on the ignition and the engine coughed to life, he gripped the brakes and allowed the wheels to spin furiously in the air, producing a loud roar. Windows popped open on either side of the lane, as wary neighbors peeped out to watch the tamasha. Gratified at this display of interest, Nandu relaxed his grip on the brakes, preparing to take off.
DHO!!!
We leaped a foot in the air in shock and he grabbed the brakes before the vehicle shot forward.
“ What the hell was that?” he spluttered and all of us turned to see a sheepish-looking Granny picking up pieces of coconut off the ground.
"Just for good luck!” she explained.
After gulping down a glass of water, he started the scooter again, glaring around at all of us as if daring anyone to make a noise. With a flick of his head, a roar of engines and mad clickings from Ma’s camera, he rode down the lane wobbling violently and honking loudly at the neighborhood girls who giggled at him over the fence.

Our lane goes straight awhile and then dips down steeply to join the main road.
I daresay that my brother never intended to reach the slope...but engrossed as he was in trying not to fall off the scooter and wave at the girls at the same time, he didn’t see where he was heading. With a scream of horror, he vanished down the lane, dashing straight for the road!!! We ran after him anxiously with Grandpa hollering, “Grip the brakes, you mutton-head!”
He did get the brakes eventually and though it did save him from being squashed by the Corporation’s garbage truck, it did not prevent him from colliding magnificently with a fisherwoman carrying a basket, who gave him a HUGE piece of her mind. Ten minutes later, the whole colony was enlightened as to what exactly she thought about unemployed jerks shooting out onto the road on pieces of rusty metal...
*******
Winners never quit. Neither did my brother. He did learn to ride a two-wheeler.
A bicycle.

2008-03-17T15:55:00.000+05:30

Imagine that you live in a remote suburb of Trivandrum; for all practical purposes, it is in the middle of nowhere (no self-respecting auto driver will go there; and the place lacks a bus stop); You have to walk a kilometre South west, to reach the bus stop, from where you have a direct bus to College at sharp 8:40 am; One Monday, you are late; Despite having jogged all the way, you miss the bus by a wide margin; On Tuesday, you leave the house five minutes early, determined to get the bus; but exactly as you reach halfway, you remember you have left your purse behind, and rush back; you locate the purse in two minutes, but find it empty; you bang on the bathroom door where Ma has conveniently disappeared, and obtain the necessary cash; by the time you get out, you are no longer early( to say the least!) You run all the way as if a rabid dog was chasing you, with your satchel bouncing up and down (sporadically smacking your bottom whenever it feels you are slowing down); You reach the bus stop just in time…to see the bus gliding away like a swan. Only, you are in no mood to appreciate its grace.

On Wednesday, you get out of your house ten minutes early, after carefully checking that you have taken all the necessary cash and assignments, and walk at a leisurely pace to the bus stop; but as you pass Bhagath Singh Lane, you run into a family friend, who insists on enquiring after the welfare of all your family members, and tells you what exactly his son is doing for a Hair Oil Company in America; After ten minutes of looking helplessly at your watch, you give up all hope and stand there resigned to your fate;

On Thursday, you leave fifteen minutes early, so as to allow time for unexpected delays; you are not delayed and reach the bus stop at 8:25. at least 4 buses pass that way, but you smirk at them, secure in the knowledge that a direct bus is coming up…8:40 comes and goes…then 8:50; A bald headed man at the bus stop informs you that the bus you are waiting for is in the workshop. You fling yourself on the dusty ground and weep…

On Friday, miraculously, you get the bus. Your joy knows no bounds, as you hand a coin to the conductor and say triumphantly, “Pappanamcode”;

He gives you a surprised look and says in a most insulting tone,
“Didn’t you look at the board before getting in? The route has been changed…this bus goes to Museum!!!”

Disillusion

2007-11-24T10:24:00.000+05:30

When something you thought yours’
Flew past, through the window,
You sighed, blinked back a tear,
Gulped and let it go…

And just as you turn,
Hitching up a smile,
It zooms right back!
And a lump rises in your throat,
With joy! The long-lost love
Has returned to you…

It flies through the air,
And halts in mid-air,
Right before you…to put out
A tongue, say ‘Guaagh!”
And zooms out again.

And you stare like an idiot,
No thought…moronic or not
Left in your head,
No more tears to waste.

Idleness

2007-11-24T10:22:00.000+05:30

It does feel nice to just sit by,
And watch Life slip through my fingers…
Lollop carelessly on a favorite chair,
And watch the present roll by…

It is so blissful to idly run
A finger along old, faded photographs,
In a once-treasured album, that someone put
Into my lap, to engage me.

It feels nice to dangle and tap,
My legs on the sturdy floor of Today,
And watch the light of yesterday fade…
Into the darkness which sweeps tomorrow.

HOLIDAY HASSLES

2006-10-22T10:48:00.001+05:30

“10-day tour to Delhi, Agra, Haridwar, Hrishikesh…Excellent food; Expert guides; Package tour for Rs.7199.99 only; Contact immediately. Phone: - 984…”
I read this ad again and mused. What happens when city-dwellers go on holiday to relieve their stress and boost their morales? They meet with unforeseen disasters and end up wearing badges that say “HOME, SWEET HOME”. I well remember the last time Balu and I went on a trip to Thekkady…
What had started as a romantic second honeymoon expanded to accommodate Balu’s mother, my sis-in-law Vineetha, her husband Rajesh and two children. We hired a Qualis and all 8 of us including the driver piled into it at four in the morning. Balu sat next to the driver while Rajesh, Vineetha and aunty occupied the middle seat. I was stuck at the back with the 5-year-old Sooraj and 2-year-old Pinki.
It is stupid to imagine that one can have a good old snooze-in-the-car while on a trip, when one is accompanied by two young children bubbling over with youth and energy. Hardly had the indifferent looking driver pulled out of the gates when Sooraj started begging me for a story. I began with “Once upon a time…” but he gave me such a look of disgust that I stopped in mid-sentence. So, I told him to look outside and enjoy the picturesque scenery. But this suggestion did not appeal to him because we were then passing through a tiny town with nothing but dusty shops and faded walls. Sooraj raised all hell by chanting ”Story, story” in a dry, reedy tone stamping his feet in rhythm. Pinki accompanied him with short loud wails. Finally, Balu glared at me and growled, “Find some way to shut the ruddy kids up…”
At once, Vineetha began in a tremulous voice asking him if he would have spoken so brusquely to his own children. She went on to accuse him of being uncaring to her affairs even though she was his only sister. She blamed her mother of loving Balu more. Sniffing, she complained,
” Why, he had a cut-glass tumbler to drink milk while mine was only plastic…” By this time, the children had fallen silent. They probably realized that their wails could never outdo their mother’s quavering complaints. Vineetha ranted on and on and stopped only when everyone except the driver had fallen asleep. She was quite gratified at this show of sympathy, till she noticed the Walkman in his lap.
Rajesh went out of his way to entertain us by cracking jokes.
(Eg: - What did one tomato tell another? Ans: - Ketchup if you can.) He laughed uproariously, slapping his thighs and wiping away tears of mirth while the rest of us laughed politely. He continued, “What is red and goes tic-tock?” We spent a long time puzzling and finally gave up.
“ An apple of course. The “tic-tock” was only to confuse you!” he replied going off into peals of laughter. He asked the same question again to which Balu replied irritably,” Apple.”
“No my dear fellow. This time it’s a clock! The red part was merely to confuse you. Ha! Ha! Ha!” Rajesh guffawed, ” Alright. What is red and-“
“-goes tic-tock? A red clock”, I said wearily.
“ No. A banana. This time both red and tic-tock were to confuse you!”
I could see a vein throbbing on the driver’s forehead. Balu ground his teeth while aunty stared blearily out of the window with a hand on her head. To ease the tension, I suggested a game of anthaakshari. It turned out to be a terrible mistake because Vineetha immediately began to sing. She started off in a shrill voice and her pitch rose higher and higher. Moreover, she did not know all the words and filled up the gaps with some of her own. Abandoning all pretence of politeness, Balu clamped his hands over his ears. The children began to whimper. Rajesh snorted derisively every now and then. Whether it was because a window pane cracked or because a car of tourists slid up close enough to ours’ to scream,” Stop the cacophony you uncivilized-“ Vineetha stopped soon.
Feeding the baby was my job. It wasn’t easy because while she didn’t want her Cerelac, her brother was quite interested. Every now and then, he would dip a finger into the bowl and lick it. He refused his toast pointblank, saying,” It’s as dry as daddy’s jokes.” Balu hastily turned his chortle into a cough. We stopped at a wayside motel to eat but lost our appetites after Rajesh extracted a dirty button from his curry. (“Thank you sir, I’ve been looking for it all day,” said the waiter.)
The stay was pleasant unless you counted the bird-sized mosquitoes; incessantly howling jackals; a haunted room; blood-sucking leeches hanging onto your flesh; Balu’s breakneck fall into a trench of muddy water; two hours of rowing a tiny canoe weighed down by five grown-ups and two children…The return trip was more eventful because both kids developed diarrhoea and the Qualis had to be stopped every half hour for them to disappear into wayside bushes.
We learnt a proper lesson. Never ever travel with people you normally don’t get along with; especially if they can sing and have a great sense of humour.

WORKSHOP WORRIES

2006-10-22T10:48:00.000+05:30

One of my friends from the Mechanical stream scoffed at our Electronics workshop today, saying it was a disgrace and exaggeration to call such mild, easy work by that name. But electronics workshop can be rather exciting…not to mention annoying and strenuous and tiresome.
First u perch on one of the high stools in the dimly lit workshop and immediately drop your resistor; Too lazy to get off and retrieve it, you perform all kinds of impossible gymnastics perched atop the stool, groping for it on the dusty floor, while it conveniently plants itself just beyond your reach; And at the exact moment, when you are leaning down, stretching your fingers towards that inaccessible corner, and two of the stool’s legs are wavering in the air, your neighbour decides to take a break and puts the Soldering Iron on your arm; you yowl like a singed cat, and shoot out of your chair and everyone rushes up, including the teacher, to ask what you have done to yourself, and feeling quite stupid, you resume your work.
So then, you take up your soldering iron, and turn over the line board, and take a bit of solder…all very methodically, and with the air of a professional, and try to get the bit of solder to stick onto the back of the board…but it seems loathe to part company with the Iron’s tip and you get all irritated and violent; you rub it vigorously around the tip of the lead, but no…it wont stick on and then you take more molten solder, and try again…and again, and finally, with a HUGE blob of solder in place, its done. YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY SHORTED YOUR CIRCUIT.
Then comes the even more exciting part of desoldering it; the solder which was so reluctant to leave your Iron tip, has now switched sides and is a bosom friend of the line board. And you melt down everything, including the component lead, in your efforts to desolder the element…all except the soldered bit; and then you go totally crazy, and begin to act irrationally…you pick up the stripper and set to work on the solder…after all, it ASKED for violence!!! With your tongue in between your teeth, you twist the wire around and give one terrific jerk…the next moment, you have the whole insulation clutched in your stripper, with 5 centimeter of bare, exposed wire soldered firmly to the line board!
And finally, you manage to make a decent circuit on the board and take it over to the CRO to test the output, crossing your fingers, toes and rolling your tongue for good measure.
And you poke in the probe, and mull over gormlessly which lead was positive and which was negative, and finally flip a coin to decide, close your eyes and try it; and instead of the desired full-wave rectified output…Lo and Behold…you get………………………………………………………………………………………...
”FM Modulation Bands…” the lab assistant tells you in unflattering wonder.
“How did you manage that? The S5 people had it for their University exams, and NONE of them got an output…”
You try to look knowledgably modest, and wave your hands and say “Er…hehe….”
And the session comes to a triumphant end with half the seniors being summoned to look at your brilliant output.

BIRTHDAY BLAST

2006-09-27T20:11:00.000+05:30

It was Balu’s birthday. His sister Vineetha and I had worked tirelessly for a week, planning a surprise party for him. He had left that morning for work as usual, never remembering that he had grown another year old. But then, Balu has never remembered significant dates like October 2nd, January 16th or August 15th. (October 2nd is our wedding anniversary; Jan 16 is my birthday and Aug 15 is…is what? Ah…who cares).
The birthday cake was shaped like a computer screen since he loves that machine more than he loves me. Buying a present had been a test of intellect and had required much skill on my part. Balu dislikes blue, green, yellow, red, orange, pink, brown…in fact all colours except black and white. He hates geometric patterns, floral designs, dots, stripes and plains. I hadn’t forgotten the time when he’d been complaining for weeks that he was the only one at work who used the same mobile phone as the office boy. Feeling sorry, I had bought him a brand new mobile phone, which seemed to be the latest and had all the most novel amenities (or so the salesman convinced me.) And it turned out to be exactly the same one he had.
He is allergic to all kinds of perfumes including eau-de-cologne. He wasn’t at all allergic in the beginning. Once on a trip to Ooty, I had bought him an exotic glass bottle, which reeked of sandalwood oil and eucalyptus. It was actually lemon grass oil. An excellent mosquito repellant. After the day he sniffed at the bottle and caught asthma, he doesn’t come near anything that smells.
Vineetha has a lot of ideas…only, they don’t always work out well. For little Sooraj’s fourth birthday party, she had planned many surprises. A bucket filled with sequins was balanced carefully atop the bedroom doorway with a string attached and held by her. As soon as the child appeared at the doorway, she would pull it lightly, showering him with sequins. But when the groggy little boy appeared, his thoroughly over-excited mother tugged at the string a little too hard. As a result, the bucket tumbled down onto the bewildered child’s head. For a split second, he stood too stunned to respond and then, broke out into loud wails. Even a chocolate sundae couldn’t console him. Three chocolate sundaes did the trick.
We decorated the whole living room with crepe paper, balloons and colored bunting. Vineetha placed her present just behind the door so that Balu would stumble over it as soon as he entered. It was a little Pomeranian puppy-dog, forced head first into a wicker basket, wearing a pink ribbon around its neck and looking thoroughly disgusted about it. I had tried to convince her that Balu held no affection for animals of any kind including puppy-dogs, kitty-cats and children, but in vain.
The guest list included everyone from Balu’s boss to the deaf old lady next door. We personally invited each and everyone and assured them that the party would be an utter failure without their gracious presence with family. Though Vineetha volunteered to cook all the food, I refused because we had all had blasts of her culinary prowess in the past and had suffered from a variety of diseases ranging from diahorreah to amoebiasis.
I personally made the paayasam. Remembering that Balu had a terrible sweet tooth, I emptied half a kilo of sugar into the boiling milk. Apparently, the same thought must have struck Vineetha, for as soon as my back was turned, she tipped another half-kilo sugar into it. Though we both wondered why the paayasam was so thick, the blunder went unnoticed till all the guests began to return their dessert untouched, adding in weak voices that they all had a history of diabetes in the family.
Punctually at six, the guests began to trickle in. Balu was supposed to arrive by six-thirty. Six-thirty came and went. Then seven. The guests began to get restless and wandered from room to room dully plucking at the ribbons. The ladies huddled around in groups, gossiping. The children climbed onto the couch and chairs and pulled down the balloons. His boss received a number of phone calls and kept muttering about “being held up unreasonably”. Vineetha and I stood numbly making forced conversation and commenting for the umpteenth time what a naughty boy he was to have stayed away today of all days. I tried to call him but it seemed that he had left the office ages ago. His mobile was turned off. After all, what would he be doing at his workplace if all his colleagues and his boss were here? Ladies threw curious and sympathetic glances at us and in fifteen minutes, the most horrible stories had begun to circulate in whispers. They ranged from his having eloped with his secretary to his lying unconscious on the highway bleeding severely through the head to his drinking heavily and brawling in public at some local bar.
By eight thirty, all the guests had left, (taking their gifts with them) and squeezing my hand in an understanding way. At nine-thirty, Vineetha too left with her puppy-dog muttering that he had let her down again and hence, did not deserve such an adorable present. I wrapped up the cake, took down all the decorations and threw away the paayasam.
Balu returned at ten thirty singing “lajjaavathiye” under his breath. By way of explanation for his absence, he said cheerfully, “ You know Shanti…today I met an old friend Aravind. I haven’t seen him for ages, since we left college. We were at the Club playing pool and I won straight!!! The old days, the old times…ah! And after all these years, he still remembers…did you know that today was my birthday?”

BABYSITTING BLUES

2006-09-23T14:29:00.000+05:30

Sunday, May 29, 2005
Today, Balu’s sister’s husband’s brother’s 6-year old son Manu Sankar came to stay. Poor child, his whole family is down with chicken pox. We graciously agreed to take him on for a few days.

Monday, May 30, 2005
Unfortunately, Manu has rubbed up on Balu’s wrong side. He keeps calling Balu, Uncle Bamboo. Today, Balu had been enjoying his afternoon siesta…legs cocked up on the table; head thrown back; snoring with mouth wide open. Manu, apparently fascinated, dropped a naphthalene ball down his throat. I arrived just in time to find Balu prancing around the room, coughing and spluttering, holding his chest. “I swallowed it, Shanti…I actually swallowed it!” he screamed, to which Manu replied brightly, “That’s O.K…I’ve plenty more.”
Balu had to have a full medical check-up, which cost us nearly two thousand bucks.

Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Today, Balu and I were watching ’Titanic’ on T.V. It was the touchingly romantic climax, and by the time Rose woke up and whispered to Jack, we were ready to fling ourselves upon each other’s necks and weep loudly. Sniffing, we tried to keep back our tears and stared mesmerized at the glowing screen. “Uncle Bamboo…” said a voice behind us, shattering the mystic silence of the magical night,” How much toothpaste is there in a tube?” I took one anxious look at Balu’s face and said hurriedly, “It depends on the weight, size and shape of the tube…and now, you’d better get back to bed.” “Wrong”, said the boy and proceeded to explain, “It stretches from the bathroom upstairs to the living room sofa here!”. It took us exactly 10 seconds to comprehend, another 10 to see the long, white line straggling down the stairs, and the next moment, the glass-topped table was flying in the air and I was dragging Balu into the bedroom, he shouting, “Let me at him…I’ll wring his neck!”

Wednesday, June 1, 2005
Today, Manu clipped off the whiskers of Mrs. Sharma’s cat and the old crone was at once at our door, demanding them back.
I now look like my granny. I’ve sacks under my eyes and have lost 3 kilos in 3 days. When was the kid going back?

Thursday, June 2, 2005
Today, we ate out. I had wrongly assumed that some fresh air would calm all of us down. Manu insisted on having “South-Hawaiian chopsuey” and anda-ka-mata noodles. It turned out to be upma and chicken-noodles. Balu, who is a strict vegetarian, looked mortified and tried not to be sick. But he went green in the face and did not fancy his ghee-roast much. When the waiter arrived with the bill, Manu piped up “Uncle Bamboo, why don’t you tip the waiter? My papa always does. After all the trouble he took to serve us, don’t you think you should be thankful?”
Under the best of circumstances, Balu hates receiving advice, though he loves giving it. Under the smug look of the waiter, Balu’s face exhibited a spectacular display of colours…pink, red, magenta…and by the time we reached home, it was purple.
But I still call today our hallelujah day. We got a call, saying that his dad would pick up Manu the day after tomorrow.

Friday, June 3, 2005
First thing in the morning, I prayed to Lord Ganesha that today…at least today, nothing should go wrong. I even offered Him 2 juicy coconuts. Obviously, He was not pleased.
Balu came down for lunch with a song on his lips and even winked at me jovially. Timidly, I asked, “What’s the matter?” And he replied happily “Damn kid goes tomorrow!” Before I could reply, there was a loud crash from outside and Manu’s voice shouted,
“Uncle Bamboo! “ We hesitated only for a second before rushing out, Balu in the lead. He dashed out blindly, shouting “Whassamatter?” slipped on a puddle of oil by the door, bounced down the steps two-at-a-time and landed in a disheveled heap at Manu’s feet. Panting, I tried to heave him up, and enquired anxiously, “What happened?” Balu moaned incoherently while Manu replied flatly, “I dropped the oil-can”.

Saturday, June 4, 2005
Balu has a cut lip, a torn ligament, a fractured leg and numerous bruises. Dr. Mahesh even wisecracked, “We should offer you a discount…you are becoming one of our regular clients!” Balu only made an indistinguishable noise in his throat. Manu came to visit him with a bouquet of yellow flowers. I was touched by the show of affection and remorse till the little tyke leaned forward and whispered, “I actually wanted to buy you a wreath, but didn’t have enough money!”

Gowri N Kishore

TIME

2006-09-16T19:24:00.000+05:30

I shut my eyes against the world,
Against life, against joy…against the tears;
Against the tidal wave of emotions
That rides high inside.
And I hear the rhythm…
The monotonous drumming of silence.
And I marvel in incredulity
How it all came to be…
So fast! So furious!
Before I had time to turn around; to think
Here I am, back at square one!
Save that fellow players have moved on…
The paths have changed;
As have the hurdles…the thrills.
But I am the same…the very same,
Back in position to resume the game.
Time has waded through life
Brushing aside happenings…and people,
Hurried through with irritable glance
And quickened strides,
Stopping a moment to look at a chance,
And moving on…just on and on.
And involuntarily, I’m pushed along
Given no chance to stop and think
But merely give helpless, backward glance
Into the past…into what I was!
Moving on with him…
Knowing no return; no return to my origins…

@#$%&*

2006-09-10T15:35:00.000+05:30

I am not the world’s best shopper; I usually have some idea of what to buy, and where to go; I go there, get it and come back. Not so with my cousin…she loves window-shopping, and makes me wonder why no irate salesman has ever slapped her.
Perhaps he has, and she has kept it quiet…I don’t know for sure.
Last week she asked me to go shopping with her.
“What for?” I asked.
She gave me an incredulous look, “It’s Onam!”
“I know; what I meant was…what are we shopping for?”
“Oh…plenty of things…” she said vaguely.
I ended up accompanying her; don’t ask me how; she’s got pretty good powers of persuasion.
We went into Parthas first. The best thing about it is that its fully a/c. I tried to flop into one of the couches in the lounge when she dragged me up, saying, “I brought you here to help me choose!”.
“Choose what?” I asked.
Since she had absolutely no idea what she was looking for, she strutted up to the direction board and scrutinized it carefully; then, turned around, said imperiously “First floor.” and ascended. I followed her doggedly.
The salesman spread out a whole lot of fancy saris before us, sewn on with sequins; beads and whatnot. She scrutinized the lot displayed before her for about twenty seconds and then said,
“I like this one…what do you think?”
“The material’s kind of thin…” I said feebly. It resembled a mosquito net, and I was sure that it would tear at the tiniest touch.
“So what? I like the embroidery on it…” she stated, “Let’s get it.”
The salesman obligingly started to carry it to the billing counter.
“Look at the price tag first!” I whispered to her.
The tag was very pretty, shaped like a butterfly; but the figures on it did not suit our taste.
“Er…I don’t like the work on it, after all…and green isn’t really my colour. Don’t you have something in red and black…at a lower range?” she asked hastily, tugging it out of his grasp.
True to his job, the man kept a straight face and began to take down more sarees. She urged him on, saying.
“Oh! Please take down that one…yes, that’s it…Edi, it’s a beautiful shade, isn’t it?”
“Er…”
“ Naa, it’s not; I’ll look washed out in pink. Hey! That one, the third from the left…on the topmost shelf…yes! Edi, this will look simply divine, don’t you think?”
“Er…”
“ Hmm, come to think of it, I already have one like this. What about this one here? The violet and pink? Funky combo, eh?”
“Er…”
In a short while, the shelves behind were emptied, and spread out before us, with the sweaty, irritable salesman trying hard to keep his smile.
“Uh-huh. I don’t like any of these…you don’t have much selection here, do you?” she asked him, oblivious to the ominous grunting of his teeth. “Thank you, we’ll leave now.”
Then she turned on her heel and stalked down. The apologetic nod I gave was lost on him.
*

“Where are we going?” I puffed, trying to keep up.
“Kid’s Section” she said absently, “I guess that’s third floor.”
I wondered what was awaiting us there.
“We are going to buy NK a suit.” she told me. NK is my 13-year-old brother.
“A SUIT!!!” I exclaimed in horror. “For your information, he is NOT getting married the day after tomorrow…what on earth does he need a suit for?”
“Oh! He’ll look sooooooooo cute in a suit…” she gushed.
My head worked furiously, and I said desperately,
“Look, its Onam now! You can’t buy him a suit for Onam!”
That stopped her in her tracks.
“Alright then…we’ll buy him a mundu !”
And nothing I said could alter that. She probably fancied it as strength of character and determination; to me, it was just plain obstinacy and mulishness.
We reached the third floor, and looked around.
A very young salesman, no taller than me, came up to us eagerly, and said,
“Yes Madam? Can I help you?”
“Of course you can…” my cousin told him graciously.
He seemed rather taken aback, but resumed,
“We have a very fine range of men’s underwear here…briefs; socks; inner wear…what would you like to look at?”
Muttering incomprehensible apologies, we fled.
*
The Onam special mundus were displayed near the reception downstairs.
“We’d like a mundu her size…”, my cousin demanded, pointing at me, “with three lines of kasavu alternating with orange thread.”
The salesman looked doubtful, “ All mundus are of the same size, ma’am! And I don’t think we stock pieces with such definite particulars…if you’d like to look at just plain kasavu or plain orange border…”
Nevertheless, she persuaded him to search through the piles kept for sale. I tried to whisper, “I don’t think they’ll have it…” but she brushed away my protests saying, “Of course they do! These people are too lazy, that’s the trouble.”
They didn’t have it. She looked so crest-fallen that the salesman offered, “ If you are so particular, ma’am, you can always order one!”
“Really? Alright then, take my order… I want a mundu with three lines of kasavu alternating with orange thread.”
After taking the order, he said, “ You pay us in advance ma’am, and I assure you, it will be delivered as soon as possible.”
“Good. We’ll wait. Can we get it by 12.30?” she asked brightly.
The man stared at her incredulously, “Oh no! the piece is woven only after the order is sent…it will be ready in a week’s time.”
“A WEEK!!!” she exclaimed disbelievingly, “But Onam will be over by then…”
He merely gave us a weary shrug.
At this, she rose to her full height, shook her head and said dramatically,
“ You have very poor customer service here, I’m sorry to say.”
We walked out maintaining a dignified silence.

ANAAMIKA

2006-09-08T12:10:00.001+05:30

Oh!
To have a head like a block of stone
Or a well grained, seasoned panel of wood
To tear myself apart¾ flesh, blood and bone
Or starve to death, without a morsel of food!
Untangle this creepy, knotted coils
That slither and slime as if bestowed with life
To put an end to my inner turmoils
And place a soothing hand on this strife
The strife…the riot…the turmoil within
That spark and crackle like tongues of flame
To pickle my brain and nail it with a pin
And free my heart of all the blame
Oh!
To empty a gallon of cool, red wine
Onto the blazing fire in my mind
And watch in relief as it hisses and spits
But finally die into golden embers
And then ash¾ cold, gray sacred ash
To gather and store in green glass bottles
And rub a pinch of it each day
Onto my cool, quieted brow
Mind you…just a pinch a day
Just a tiny pinch of it though

love letters to an unknown soul -1

2006-08-30T22:05:00.000+05:30

Was it love that filled my heart to bursting
And broke into a smile on my face
And fluttered nervously at my breast
And danced as a dimple on my cheek
And blew about my hair like the breeze
And whispered strange, magical melodies in my ear
And tinkled with my anklets at every step….?
Was it love that made me ache with longing
And formed beads of sweat upon my brow…?
Was it love that rolled down my cheeks
And fell silently into my palm?
Was it love that twanged in every word of mine
And faltered, broke and fell silent…?
Was it love that burned in my eyes
Before I squeezed them shut and turned away?
Is it love that pours out of this pen
As torrents of tearstained words?
Was it love?
Is it still?

SILENT SIGHS

2006-08-20T14:49:00.002+05:30

People say that my middle initial ‘N’, stands for nakki. (it actually stands for Narayani, which is even worse; so I privately prefer nakki.) Sure, I am always waiting forever at bus-stops for Private buses and ever-willing to walk that extra mile…but is it to save cash? NO! it is merely because I appreciate patience; (another of those innumerable virtues that I have); And I love…yes, simply love, exercise. Wasn’t it Gandhi who said that walking is good for health?
And is it fair to assume that I make people greeting cards only to avoid buying them? I’m only exercising my creativity and channeling my talents; and what about all the love I have poured into the creation of those? Can it all be ignored? Sure, they may be just crude pictures scrawled on notebook paper, but after all, it’s the thought that counts!!!!
I am an ardent admirer of my cousin’s taste in clothes and after she outgrows them, I put in a claim for them. I know it is so unfair that the servant’s children have to wear the clothes we discard…I mean, that’s so sad! I try to save them from that Fate, and yet of course, my efforts are rewarded by ‘Boo’s and brickbats!
And if someone is pining away to treat me to an ice-cream or is hoping to take me out, is it fair on my part to refuse? But there it is…the very people who told me ‘Love a heart that hurts you; but never hurt a heart that loves you’ tell me “Ingane osalle!!!”
They have absolutely no idea how much such unfounded accusations hurt me; how much it pains me to hear such cruel words…but I bear it stoically, as I do all the other grievances against me, and only pray each night,
“Pithave…ivar endanu cheyunnathennivar ariyunnilla…ivarodu kshamikkename!”
Amen.

ALL'S FAIR IN LOVE 'N' WAR

2006-08-20T14:49:00.001+05:30

Sanusha* (name changed to protect my face) was one of the first friends I made in college. Her simplicity and straightforwardness were what impressed me most and I privately felt that these made up for her thick-headedness. (Then, I had no inkling of what this would do to me.) We were in different classes and usually had time together only in the evening.
Well, one evening, I found her hanging out of the bus window, waving heartily at someone outside. Out of natural curiosity, I peeked over her shoulder…only to behold a more realistic version of Aamir Khan.
But precisely at that moment, the bus started to move, and I turned around discreetly, craning my neck to get another glimpse. But the bus swerved around the corner and my LOS was cut-off.
I mentally quoted R.L.Stevenson, “…just a glimpse and gone forever…”.
I turned to Sanusha and asked casually, “Who were you waving at?”
“When?” she asked blankly.
She can be really slow sometimes.
I said airily, “Oh, just a minute ago…while we were pulling out of the college gates…”
“ Oh! You mean Vineetha? She is in my class…really nice girl; but a pukka buji. Today Deepak sir…”
I interrupted her, “Not Vineetha! The guy…the guy in the red shirt…who was that?”
Well, maybe I could have been a bit more tactful. In a most uncharacteristic manner, she stared at me, a grin spreading across her face.
“ Which guy? ”
I stared back innocently, trying not to flush.
“Er…well, never mind.”
I gave up. She had more sense than I’d thought. Was I THAT obvious?
Sanusha chattered away merrily, apparently oblivious to my annoyance. I listened stonily, and as the bus halted at my stop, I coldly said “Bye!” to her and alighted.
Just as the bus revved and moved on, Sanusha came to the window and shouted for all the world to hear,
“HIS NAME IS AJAY VARMA!!!”
As the spectacle of her grinning face disappeared around the corner, I was left on the road, with at least a dozen people staring at me smugly.
I do appreciate openness, but this was brazenness!!!
Well, I didn’t raise the topic with her after that, but I came across Ajay Varma in the corridors many times, leaving me momentarily dazed.
A week later, Sanusha had pity on me and broached the topic herself.
“ He is kind of cute…I agree, and rather nice, but too quiet. I haven’t seen him even look at a girl till now…”
“Then how come he was waving at you?” I asked suspiciously.
“Oh! He did, didn’t he?” she seemed surprised. “Yeah…guess he does talk to me…”
She briefed me about him…where he had done his schooling; his entrance rank; what his dad was doing; where he stayed…
And then she uttered the magic words.
“If you want, I’ll introduce you…”.
*
Well, the following day, I went to see her during break, mentally planning an encounter, which involved Sanusha and Ajay chatting casually; me passing by as if Ajay was part of the wall; Sanusha putting out a hand and stopping me, saying, “Gowri…this is Ajay.”
But apparently, Sanusha had other ideas.
As soon as I entered her class, she dragged me to Ajay and said brightly,
“Eda! This is Gowri…she wanted me to introduce you…”
I was rudely jolted out of my daze (I told you, he had that effect on me!) and flushed to the roots of my hair.
“Me? I…that is…she’s just kidding…”I spluttered, but still smiling, he put out a hand and said “Ajay Varma.”
“G-Gowri Kishore…” I said weakly, and took it.
Sanusha just stood there between us, gazing into space, making no attempt at a conversation. After a few moments of embarrassed silence, in which I wondered wildly why the girl didn’t say something, I pulled the rags of confidence about myself and asked conversationally,
“ Which school were you in?”.
He opened his mouth to reply; simultaneously, Sanusha seemed to wake up from her trance and exclaimed with an air of great incredulity,
“Hey! You asked me this yesterday naa? I told you already…he was in XYXZZ (name obliterated again in case he reads this)…”
Ajay flashed me that smile again, but I felt there was something faintly (faintly???) mocking in it. I made a poor attempt at a grin, which slipped off my face like jelly.
“I did? I-I don’t remember…” I stuttered, hoping she would keep her mouth shut. Well, that was not to be.
“ Of course you did! Eda…this girl questioned me for an hour yesterday about you!” she informed him. He turned to me again, smiling that half-amused, half-mocking smile.
I gulped; gaped; spluttered…I did everything that any normal person in my position would do then. And then, salvation came in the form of our Mechanics teacher, and I thankfully slunk out of the class, never to return, feeling just like the wolf in Three Little Pigs.
*
I did get to know him, under less tragic circumstances, with the aid of other, more sensitive friends, who had an emotional range larger than a teaspoon’s (Courtesy: Rowling), and I lost the romantic feelings for him, and more decent tendencies developed and stayed. But since then I’ve realized why people don’t appreciate frankness all that much; it’s potentially dangerous. And I have taken the trouble to inform people that if they were intending to use Sanusha’s aid to gain access to someone, they’d better flush their dreams down the drain.

F.R.I.E.N.D.S

2006-08-17T11:28:00.000+05:30

Friends are a weird species. They are the epitome of all that is good, and fun and trustworthy. They provide shoulders and hankies when you want to cry; they are terribly loyal and always there for you…but their sense of humour is appalling.

For the past two weeks, all of us have been sitting at home swatting flies, because of college strikes. The reason for this is…GOK.
For the first couple of days, I woke up at dawn, finished the household chores, completed my homework, did my daily lessons, walked a kilometer, hung onto the footboard of a private bus, fell off at East Fort, caught another bus, got my feet trodden on by obese fisherwomen…and reached college, suffering these hardships stoically…why?
Solely because of my thirst for knowledge. Because I wanted to do my parents proud. Because I want to do my M.Tech from I.I.Sc Bangalore.
And then, wisdom dawned. I told my friend to call me from his cell phone if at all there was class. And thus, Yours Truly stopped going to college, assuring Ma that I would be reading Streetman’s Solid State Devices at home. Though the internet bills soared sky-high, I rested assured that I was saving myself a lot of time, energy and money.
This practice went well for about a week…and then suddenly one day, I guess he got tired of it.
One fine Thursday, I had noodles boiling away merrily on the stove, a packet of Lays in hand, an Agatha Christie open on my lap, relaxing to “I’m not an actor…I’m not the star…” when the phone rang wildly. It was my friend. Breathlessly, he said,
“There’s college today…no strike. Come quickly…”.
I was surprised. No strike? Gee…why not?
“Don’t you even read the papers? High court order…all political parties and strike banned in educational institutions…oops! Teachers’ here…bye.”
I blinked for a second.
Then, rousing myself to action, I hurriedly shut off the half-boiled noodles and scooped it into my lunch box, regretfully dumped the chips and the Christie, got dressed, foraged for my notebooks which seemed to have vanished completely, grabbed a handful of change, strapped my feet into my sandals (this is a complicated task that took about 3 minutes) and rushed headlong out of the door.
As I was fumbling at the door, the phone rang again. My first impulse was to let it ring; then I decided to pick it up in case it was Ma. So I rushed back in.
“Hello?”
It was him again.
“Hey! you aren’t gone yet?”
I rolled my eyes. This guy was SO thick sometimes!
“If I were, would I have picked up the phone?”
“Oh…yeah. Well, I just called to say that it IS strike today… no class.”
“WHAT???”
“Yea…I was just kidding before…just wanted to check how fast you could get ready…”
And he hung up.

MEINE KYA KIYA???

2006-08-17T10:29:00.001+05:30

Sometimes, things seem unfair. Of course, all of us have heard and sounded this refrain hordes of times before, but let me do it too once more…our college being SCT (Strike Comes Today) college of engineering, we usually spend more time at cafes, theatres and home than in class.
Last week, on a rainy strike day, three of us went to my friend’s house. She had a cell phone with free messages, a HUGE packet of Lays, a cute-looking neighbour and a house with no adults present. Great!!!
So we headed there, our moods not dampened by the dark, frowning clouds above. We travelled miles by bus and bullock cart (of course, this is just a hyperbole…you know, literary exaggeration. Hehe!) and finally landed in front of her gate at Vattiyoorkkavu.
By this time, the skies looked more ominous than it had on the ides of March, and the Heavens seemed ready to howl in gloom and soak us to the skin.
So there was the house. and we had the keys. But there was also the gate. It was a very fine gate indeed, cast in wrought iron with beautiful hoops and projections and painted a lovely shade of brown. It was nigh on 5’5” high.
To keep away thieves, salesmen and strays, her Dad had locked the gate from inside. One had to put one’s hands through a tiny space of 3 centimeters width and twist around to unlock it. And I admit that none of us had those pretty, petite hands that would fit through the gap. We all had a turn at it, and nearly got ourselves handcuffed, but it wouldn’t open.
To top it all, huge, fat, ugly drops began to patter down.
The situation was pretty dark. We had to walk nearly 1 kilometer to reach civilization, and then wait for a bus…returning was out of the question and my friend said that she now sincerely regretted having quarreled with her neighbour; well, we couldn’t just stand there and stare…after all, someone had to do something!
So I did.
I told them to hold my bag, and took off my slippers. Decked in an embroidered salwar and in all my bejeweled glory, I climbed onto the gate, and sat with legs dangling on either side. Well, it was pretty uncomfortable…the gate was too narrow, and had those ruddy iron fittings on it; and though climbing up had seemed easy, I was loathe to swing my leg over to the other side.
And as luck would have it, (Yes I know, this is exactly the position in stories where the hero appears precisely when the heroine is caught in an uncomfortable position!) two little boys appeared. They stopped and stared at me atop the gate, exchanged cheeky grins, ignored my sweet calls of “Bye-bye!!!” and began to chant
"HUMPTY DUMPTY SAT ON A WALL..."
I was mortified. I mean, what if the cute neighbour heard this and came out?
So, I scowled at them, swung my leg over and climbed down gingerly. I unlocked the gates and let my friends in, stuck out my tongue at the kids, who went their way, keeping up the litany. And no sooner had we got in than it began to pour…simply pour with rain. So in a way, the kids had spurred me on.
Well, we had a great time, and I soon forgot the whole episode of Gal-atop-the-Gate.
But my friends didn’t.
They flashed it in college, and now I have another nickname to add to my already long list…maramkeri.
I sacrificed my feminity, dignity and image to save us from being soaked, and what did I get? Ungratefulness. And a nickname.
Kindness does NOT pay. Gratitude and common courtesy are practically extinct. and I alone remain, as a single lighted candle in this wicked world.

LIFE HAI...KUCH KHATTI, KUCH MEETHI!!!

2006-08-17T10:29:00.000+05:30

I know the intricacies of true love, crushes and soft spots as well as any of you…I’ve read about it all over the place; n preached a good bit on it myself…but today, I tripped and fell flat on my face…
I’ve heard enough stories, n seen enough fluffy movies which tell touching tales of how you keep on loving a person with all your heart and soul and never know it…till he gets together with someone else…and I’ve been properly sceptic about it all. I mean, how can u be in love with someone and not realize it???? Don’t the skies seem bluer? And wont the wind whisper sweet nothings into your ear???
Well, it happened to me.
And before u gape and gasp in surprise, or raise your brows, lemme hastily swallow half my words.
I didn’t fall in love with anyone and lose them…(at least, not in the last one year!!!) but I did suffer a teeny weenie heartbreak.
Well, as it happened…I met this guy; (can’t tell u where or how or why, in case he reads this) and he was dashing; you know, like a knight out of my bedtime storybook…sigh! And I thought sceptically…”Well! Here is my prince and here is his horse…do I want to climb on and ride away???”. Well, I must’ve bin crazy, coz I answered NO.
You know Gowri…this guy is TOO good to b true…somehow, he doesn’t seem real; he seems to have stepped rite out of a dream…love is more real…more tangible; The Man will not sweep u off your feet, he’ll just walk beside u forever…The Man will not kiss you awake into Paradise…he’ll kiss you awake to life…
And so on and so forth…my first whole-hearted attempt at being Sensible; Down-to-earth and Practical. So I shut my eyes and told myself that the skies were just a familiar hue; and that the wind was howling in my ears…I left him there…where I found him.
And then, he came up to me, with a song on his lips and stars in his heart, and said…”Gowri…I’m in love!!!”.
Excellent.
I bared my teeth in what I hoped was a smile, and said “Hey! That’s wonderful..cool..great…”. WTF.
*
Guess I’ll heal in a week’s time; but this goes to prove…that THINKING SENSIBLY is a crime. It loses you opportunities; it blinds you with its gray pallor; and saps your vital imagination. I am no longer a temperance advocate. Henceforth, I shall provide my full support to people with imagination, and dreams…after all, we learn from our mistakes.

KYUN HO GAYA NAA?

2006-08-16T19:55:00.000+05:30

A lot of things happen to us, being people…that is, being reckless teenaged girls and boys, a whole lot of STUFF is bound to happen to us. Stuff that may seem screaming funny at the time, and reduce you to nostalgic tears later…stuff that you feel is unfair and shameful, but those that you look back and laugh at…and things that teach you a thing or two; I confess that most of the STUFF that has happened to me, belongs to the latter category.
I was talking to a guy the other day…I didn’t know him very well, and we were only on that long, winding, curving, crumbling path to friendship. We talked about many things…from death to Ayn Rand and potato chips. (yea…yea…I know!) and finally ambled towards that glorious, highly entertaining six-letter word, that is music to a woman’s heart…GOSSIP.
So I asked him what he thought of A and why, and added what I thought of A and why, and he asked me what I thought of R and then told me why he didn’t think so…
And so on….
And then I asked, “ What do you think about M and gang?”
He said he didn’t know any of them well, and so it was probably wrong to answer, but that he didn’t mind anyone in particular, except M. he didn’t know why, but he had just one last nerve left and M always happened to get on it. And he asked me what I thought about M and gang.
And I said, “ I like M…and the others don’t really bug me…but G is a @#$%.”
Unfortunately, our tongues don’t come with delete buttons.
For a minute, there was silence, and then he said,
“ G happens to be one of my best friends.”
Sheeeeeeeesh!!! Well, needless to say, there was a loo…ong silence, during which time, I wracked my brains furiously trying to find something to say. Something that would effectively repair the damage done. I did.
“ Hehe !!!!”
Don’t blame me, that was the best I could come up with, under the rather strained circumstances. The word ‘apology’ didn’t even momentarily flash through my head. Guess I am rude to the core. Sigh!
Well, if you are wondering what happened next, I’ll enlighten you.
He asked me if he could call me home.
Gee! Surprise ending, huh?
Fortunately, this guy happened to be of the class that believes Frankness is a virtue and needs to be appreciated. He said he really respected the fact that I was being open and honest, and those were qualities that should be acknowledged. He added that as citizens of India, everyone was entitled to their own opinions and beliefs. So I accepted the compliment, nodded feebly, and muttered belated apologies.
Such is the nature of the stuff that happens to us. This may not be funny; and those of you who have hung on to the very end of this, might now roll your eyes and say, “Uh…mediocre to the last.” But the point I want to make is that this could have had a different ending. The guy could have taken offence. He could have argued with me on his friend’s behalf. If he had, I would have lost a good friend. But he didn’t. He respected my views. And though he disagreed, he didn’t make a scene.
That is what got me. I wonder now, had I been in his place….hmmm.

THE LIGHT OF THE OTHER DAYS

2006-08-10T23:13:00.000+05:30

I passed out of school in March 2005. It was the closure of a glorious chapter of my life. It was a time of teary farewells, choked good-byes, tight hugs and fond memories. It was a season for scribbling in autograph books, and smiling at cameras. I scribbled in every book offered to me…” Eat, Drink and be merry…for tomorrow we die.” I was crying inside…weeping for the beautiful vision that was fading…but perhaps, I hadn’t realized completely how much this would affect me. Now, a year later, I’m out of school. Enrolled in an engineering institution. A totally new life. Strange faces. Different atmosphere…
On the first day of my new life, there was no eager anticipation in my heart. There’s nothing familiar! I thought anxiously. I gazed around myself, bewildered…seeking…seeking.
I despaired at once…this wasn’t home! Home was where the pink bougainvillea hung over the fences; where the cemented roads were covered by flaming orange gulmohar blossoms; I missed my school so much that it was like having a permanent tooth-ache. I missed everything about school…the yellow buildings stacked up like shoe boxes; the white outline of the chapel against the bright blue sky; the graffitied cement benches under the rows of Ashoka trees; the slide near the girls’ toilet; the swings in the nursery park; the huge, cold auditorium…the labs that reeked of hydrogen sulphide; the library filled with the most delightful books I’ve ever read; the newspaper stands in the far end of the corridor…I lost myself in them; in the images that came back to taunt me. Like the pages of a book that I could only re-read…never re-live.
Oh! To fade fast into oblivion!
Fade far away, dissolve and quite forget…
If only someone would lay a restraining arm on this outbreak of memories!!! Oh! for the warmth of the old days….the lazy days and warm, still nights! The soft, high laughter and the stifled giggles…the looks of anticipation, whoops of joy…the squeals of pleasure and the swell of hope!!! The golden warmth that life had a year ago and the comforting knowledge of what all tomorrows would bring!
The old days had a charm…a beauty…a gleam of silent bliss. Behind the doors lay a wealth of cherished memories…I felt a sad hunger for them; a feeling of loss and hopelessness…I screwed up my face against the winds of time…but to achieve naught. I heard the sad magic of old, half-forgotten songs …the ones we sang in our fifth and sixth…”Raindrops on roses and…”, and then the last ditty of farewell, “Jahan ho pyaar ka mausam…”. My thoughts were full of the images of the days at school…my friends, teachers, all beautiful images frozen with time. Those tiny beacons of the past…those that lit up my runway down memory lane. The flickers that illuminated my path for 14 years, and guided me to this place, where I stand today…those lights on whom I had depended on, more than I’d ever realized.
It was a slow, painful journey. A weary slog away from the unsnappable cords that bound me to the past. I hurt a lot…kept turning back for relief, and met only faded images of the days gone by. Tried to move on, and stood bewildered at the crossroads, wondering which way to turn…
***
I still haven’t got used to this unfamiliar campus, that’s going to house me for another three years. I lose myself frequently in the labyrinth of corridors, and end up asking a senior for help. I wouldn’t recognize half my college mates on the street and still do not know the name of our Physics teacher! But to some extent, I’ve managed to free myself from the obsessive torpor of my memories. I do not dwell in the past, nor do I cry over it. I can acknowledge tearlessly, that I am out. Entirely, completely out of the school that had homed me for fourteen years. I am on my own. There is no blanket around me now…no comforting knowledge to assure my vanity that tomorrow will bring only the same happiness that shines through today. I stand alone, to face the days to come. And I know that I’ll always be welcomed back into that holy courts, for guidance; assurance and love.
It was inevitable…my parting from my school. It was undeniably real and painful…I hurt a lot. Cried a lot…but in the end, I learnt the most important lesson life taught me. I learnt to let go.